La Storia di Speranza
by GeneticallyElvenGryffindor
Summary: Through the eyes of a child- a special child because of her genes- the story of the Xavier School unfolds. How does one so different learn to see life? What truly is normal? What is in your nature and what is part of you because of how you grew up?
1. Gli Occhi di una Bambina

AN: Hi everyone! This is my first time posting anything remotely related to The X-Men, despite the fact I am a huge fan of anything related to them. That includes the movies, the books, the comic books, the movies, and the cartoons. Why, you might ask, do I like The X-Men? Well, I'm a biology major and I'm hoping to, someday, get into genetic engineering. This story was written before and, in honor of, the Genetics Class I took last semester. What a time we had! Anywho, please, please, please read and review! I always appreciate the feedback.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in college. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

_From the journal of Hope "Starsheen" D'Amichi, age 14_

My brother had the radio on in his room before. He's not supposed to because it "distracts" him from his studies...or so my mom says.

I think he'd just rather listen to the radio and play baseball or video games than anything else. He's still a kid, you know, and he sometimes doesn't understand everything that goes on in the world.

Maybe, I'm wrong though and he's just escaping into his own little world. He chooses to ignore what's going on and pretend everything's still alright.

Anyway, I'm getting away from the story. Sometimes I do that but I guess you know that since this is my journal.

He heard this song called "Welcome to My Life" and he told our mom that song was about us and how no one understands what we are and things like that. I don't think I've ever seen her get that mad at him. I'm not sure if she grounded him or not because I took my leave.

I think it may have started an argument with dad, too, but I don't know. They've been arguing a lot, you know, since everything happened.

I've heard the word "moving" being bounced about, more by my dad then my mom. He doesn't feel safe here any more---Who can blame him, though? My mom insists this is the best place for, not them, but for my brother and I. She doesn't want to go anyplace to "start over" and "get a fresh outlook."

I have my radio on now, kind of low though because I think my dad's sleeping. He pulled long hours at the deli this week since Antonio's gone to Italy to visit his parents. I don't want to wake him. Mom's grading papers in the living room. I should be out there helping her but I have to do this first. My brother, well, he's sulking in his room since he doesn't like getting in trouble.

The song my brother was talking about just came on. It's the first time I've ever heard it and I have to say, he has a point. The song echoes some of the feelings people around here have about their lot in life.

Not that they're the feelings I have but that's just me. Maybe it's because this is all I've ever know and stuff. Growing up here will do that to a kid.

I'm digressing...again.

People are always looking for someone to blame when they find out they're like us. It's just a natural reaction, I guess, when you find out you're something everyone in the world hates and fears. I don't remember if I've ever felt that way. I probably haven't.

I know better than to look for someone to blame.

It's not the fault of my mom or dad, because they didn't ask for me to be what my brother and I are. They didn't ask their parents to be what they are. I'm sure of it even though I've never met them.

There's no higher power to blame, either. This was what was meant to happen. Science says so.

I guess if you really wanted to blame anything, it would have to be your DNA. You know the

genetic code that's found in every cell of everyone's body and makes us who we are. Our DNA can be found coiled up neatly to form genes.

Not the genes you wear on your legs, silly!

These genes are totally different and serve a totally other purpose. It is within these genes DNA resides and it is DNA that is trascripted to produce proteins. Gene expression has everything to do with the expression of mutation since, without the genes to express it, there would be no mutations.

Maybe that's the answer to the question: Why am I like this?

I never liked that question. I don't like people asking my why I am the way I am. It's hard enough when you get asked, "What are you?" Not "Who are you?" but "What are you?"

I can't express just how horrible that feeling is. It's like I'm not even human anymore. I've been placed somewhere among shoes and books and those unsightly things you find on the ground.

And that's from the people who don't know the real reason I live in this school.

They assume I'm a "what" because of how I look. It's not my fault that I appear this way, with the starburst pattern on my irises and my signature ears. Genetics stated I was supposed to look this and I guess I should be thankful my parents are the way they are. In some ways, their genes helped fill in the blanks in mine. Things could have turned out a lot differently for me if they hadn't.

They actually can't figure out why I'm even alive. Imagine that! Not really knowing why I was allowed to live.

Since I'm that one-in-four eventuality they never planned for- because everyone assumed such a child wouldn't have even lived long enough to become what I am now- I'm kinda one of a kind. I'm sure they'll be others like me someday, not exactly like me but enough like me genetically speaking, but for now I'm the only one. Patient 001. The test subject and crash test dummy all at the same time. I've lived my life under their microscopes and in test tubes.

Anyone else would mind having to put up with such things for so long but I don't. As a matter of fact, my mother always asks me if I want to tell them to stop the testing. Stop my life as a human lab rat. Give me a "normal" life, such as one can have when you're like me.

When I was little I always wanted to say yes but I never did. You always want to do what pleases your parents, make them proud and stuff. Maybe I even wanted to assert myself over my brother and make him understand that I was bigger and better then him. Or something like that.

Now though, because I'm older and, arguably, wiser, I let them get on with their work for two reasons. The first is that I'm allowed to help now. I've passed every proficiency test they're thrown at me with flying colors and, so, they've allowed me in the lab. It helps to have a mother who teaches biology, too!

The other is because I really just want to be of some help to someone someday. Like I wrote before, I'm not going to be the only one with a double recessive mutant gene. One hundred percent mutant genes, as my genetic profile reads.

I know big words and ideals for such a little girl.

After everything that's happened- not just to me but to everyone around me- I'm allowed to have some big ideals.

The world's become slightly more unfriendly toward all of mutant kind. We're less popular then ever just because there are a few bad apples in both the mutant and human bushels.

The human race isn't as innocent as they'd like to think, sometimes.

They named me Hope because they hoped the world- OUR WORLD- would be different when I got older. That I wouldn't have to face the evils they had to face and live in a world where my kind was accepted by the rest of the human race. A world of peace and of prosperity for all humankind.

I don't often like to say this but they were wrong. The world is an unfriendly place for people like my brother and I and all the kids in the school we live in.

I'm sorry I was so grave, I never really am but I guess it needed to be said. Well, written down in this case.

My mom wants me to help her grade papers. I'd better get going, just in case her mood hasn't improved.

Second Star to the Right,

Starsheen


	2. Sopra il Telefono

AN: I'd like to first apologize for anything that seems confusing of super technical. I'm a biology major and I sometimes use really super technical words because I'm not thinking. I don't want to sound like I'm bragging or anything because I'm not. I really know only what I'm told I have to know. It's just that I have a terrible tendency to memorize everything I'm asked to know and this stuff becomes part of my everyday vocabulary. Anyway, if ever I make anything too technical, please feel free to tell me I'm doing so! Thanks for your reviews! I'm always shocked when I get them and they're always a delight to read! Please, continue to read and review!

E.L. Lockhart: Thank you for your encouragement! Here's the next part of the story. I really hope you like it!

Ms. Unknown: Hi there! I'm glad you liked this chapter. It ties in, eventually, to my Lord of the Rings story. Here's the next installment.

PixiePea000: Hey! You know the Dynamic Duo are busy with stuff….not saying what though. You'll have to wait to find that out. I'll just get my operator to help me out…since that's his job and all. Anywho, I'm glad you liked this chapter! The cliffhangers are probably going to crop up but you know who to blame. Anyway, GOLLUM and watch out for Agent Elrond Smith (since the Dynamic Duo are otherwise occupied).

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in college. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

_**About Fourteen Years Prior…**_

The room was wide and noisy. Here and there men sat or reclined in chairs in front of open faced lockers. They din was a result of the radio blaring some kind of rock music, used to "calm" the nerves of the players sitting in the room, and the loud speech of the players. It was an atypical atmosphere for the locker room of the first place- clinging tenaciously to a two game lead, I might add- New York Mets before a game.

"Hey Rook, phone call. It's a chick, says it's urgent," called a burly man with bottle blond hair and a goatee.

He was thickly built with a large amount of neck and very little torso. In actuality, he looked like a human fire plug, though no one was brave enough to tell him that. Stretched across his massive chest was a white-with-blue-stripes jersey. The name "Doyle" and the number "29" were stitched to his back, straining against the fine stitches that kept them in place.

Rook- the team's "affectionate" name for the rookie pitcher Nicolas Giacatore- made his way over to where Doyle stood holding the phone. Unlike number twenty-nine, Nicholas was a tall thin man with just some muscle on his body. His blackish-brown hair was trimmed neatly and his eyes were large, making him look younger. Well, he was younger than most in the locker room---fresh from the minors, an accident that shouldn't have been on the team in the first place.

Nicholas- Nick or Nicky to his friends- took the phone with a "Thanks."

"Make sure to give the little lady on the other end of the line a kissy from me," Doyle replied, laughing crudely.

It was tradition to make the rookie on the team as miserable as possible. One of those insane rights of passage that every team had. It really didn't matter that the "Rook" had an excellent ERA- Earned Run Average- and a winning record. They had to do it just because.

"Nick here," he said, holding the phone in his right hand.

His left hung loose and relaxed at his side. He was a lefty- a left handed pitcher- and he wouldn't risk harm to his pitching arm…especially since he was the starting pitcher.

"Nicky, it's Rose," said a panicky voice on the other end of the line.

A smile flitted over Nick's face at the sound of the voice. Rose was his long time lady-love and, as of the start of the baseball season, his fiancée. He planned on marrying her. It would be all the sweeter if he had a World Series win under his belt and a Cy Young Trophy in his possession.

"What's wrong, Rosie?" he asked, noting the unusual tone in her voice, "You sound upset."

He raised his voice ever so slightly. He couldn't speak as loudly as he wanted for fear of alerting someone to his call. He didn't need anymore ribbing then he already got.

'Something's happened, Nicky. Something terrible," she stated, her voice continuing to sound frightened.

The tone sent an icy shot of fear through Nick. In all the years he had known Rose, he'd never heard her sound like this. There'd never been a reason for her too. After all, they lived in one of the safest places in the world. Well, it was in his humble opinion…

"Are you alright, Rosie?" he asked, receiving a muffled "yes" for an answer.

It sounded as if she had started to cry or was trying to hold back the tears that wanted to fall.

Thinking quickly, he asked, "How about Angie and Matt? Are they alright?"

Angelina and Matthew D'Amichi, a newly married couple with a baby on the way, were two of Nick and Rose's best friends. The four had attended the same private boarding school in Salem Center, Westchester together. Nick and Matt had been roommates like Angelina- Angie- and Rose.

Somewhere along the lines, the quartet had split into pairs and, in those pairs, they had found someone to stay with. It didn't, however, mean they all weren't best friends in the world.

"Matt's fine, as fine as he can be all things considered, but you have to promise me you'll pitch really well, despite what I'm going to say," Rose, hurriedly, replied.

"What's wrong, Rose?" Nick asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

A million and one thoughts, all of them bad, ran through his head. Each of them he hoped were untrue, as he only wanted the best for his friends.

"Promise me first, Nicholas," Rose retorted, a bit of warning in her voice.

No information was going to be given unless she first extracted a promise from him.

"Aright," he sighed, "I promise to pitch my best. Now, tell me."

The other end of the line grew dangerously quiet for several long moments. Nick began to think Rose had panicked and decided not to tell him or that something had happened and she wasn't able to get to the line.

"Angie got sick today," she informed Nick, her voice weak and shaky, "She was assisting a lab and…and just collapsed. They brought her to the school's infirmary because there wasn't anyplace else they could take her. Her appendix ruptured at some point- apparently she had appendicitis but hadn't noticed it or something- and she had a massive infection. The…infection spread to her blood, Nicky."

Stunned silence was all Rose received for an answer. Nick, no long hearing the merry sounds of a locker room primed for a good game against the Atlanta Braves, was trying to process this newly learned information.

"Holy Cow! What about the baby?" he asked, finding his voice.

It seemed impossible, really, for something like that to have happened. Angelina seemed in the peak of health- for a seven month pregnant woman- just a few days previous. He remembered talking to her about baby names and nursery colors over breakfast. That seemed so long ago now.

"They had no choice but to deliver the baby. It has massive blood poisoning as a result of the infection. No one's sure how long it'll last, respirator or not," Rose said, her voice sad, small, and bleak.

"I'm coming up there," he announced, sounding about as firm as a limp noodle.

The game- his game- no longer held any meaning for him. What he wanted was to be with his friend's, his family really, in their time of trouble.

"Nicholas," Rose scolded, "I want you to stay down there and pitch, for the baby's sake and for your team's sake. They're counting on you. You've got a job to do."

He relented, not wanting to walk into the house to an angry Rose and not really feeling up to the task to explain to his coach why he had to go. There was no one ready to replace him. These games meant so much to everyone and he couldn't let them down. Them being his teammates and the fans.

"Alright," he relented, "I'm coming straight up there after the game. I want to be there for everyone."

There was no arguing with Rose, especially after she had extracted a promise from him. He'd seen her temper flare more times than he could guess. Each time it had quite ugly results.

"I'll see you then, Nicky. Love ya," Rose said, trying and failing to maintain a light tone.

"Love ya, too," Nicky replied with the air of someone who was badly distracted.

The news weighed heavily on his mind as he walked over to his locker down on "Pitcher's Row." Without really thinking- since he'd done it so many times before- he continued to dress.

A normal white t-shirt was replaced with a dusky gray one with tiny red "X"s on the bottom of each sleeve. The shirt was worn beyond compare but never would he trade it. He considered it to be his lucky shirt. Never had he lost wearing it to a game.

"What's wrong, buddy?" asked the player in a neighboring locker.

Nick buttoned up his jersey, a huge number thirteen on its back, and replied, "Bad new from home, Andy."

Andrew "Andy" Unker was the team's rookie catcher and had known Nick in his little league days. It was a strange but happy coincidence that the pair were battery mates in the big leagues.

"What happened? Are you going to start today?" he asked, sounding nervous.

Andy was, by rule, Nick's personal catcher. He had a knack for calling the right pitches in every situation. It helped, of course, that Nick was an exceptionally talented pitcher.

"I had to promise Rose I'd pitch today. The game of my life no less. You remember Matt, the guy I went to that prep school with?" Nick inquired, sitting in his locker.

"I remember you mentioning him once or twice. How come?" Andy inquired, taking a seat near his own locker.

His stool had gone missing so he was forced to sit on the floor. Yet another nasty bit of "ribbing" by the elders on the team.

He relayed nearly all of the story- so much he knew anyway- to his battery mate. Though it felt better to tell the news to someone- anyone- Nick felt as if he was betraying a trust. This was by and large personal information that he was sharing and an outsider, such as Andy, really shouldn't have been privy to it.

"Is she alright?" Andy asked.

He had only fleeting knowledge of the people Nick was talking about. On opening day, he had been introduced to the trio of Matt, Angie, and Rose.

"I'm not sure, Andy. This kid- Man, I don't even know if it's a boy or a girl!- was born like two months too early with this nasty blood infection. It doesn't look good no matter how you paint it," Nick moaned.

"Man, buddy, I'm sorry. Just keep your head in the game today and everything will be fine," Andy commented, going back to his own dressing.

"Leave it to, Andy," Nick mused, "If anything's wrong, think about baseball."

Out loud, he stated, "I'll try, Andy, I really will."

If he was going to be able to keep that promise, he didn't know. After all, baseball was still a game of chances and inches and skill. Perhaps the news had just been the first omen in a very bad day…

(AN: Alas I wish the Mets were in first place. Just a little more fiction on my part.)


	3. Il Segno

AN: Sorry about the long delay between updates. School's been crazy and I haven't found a regular day to update this story. Have no fear though! I'm updating now! I'm glad to see that people are reviewing this story of mine. I'm actually really shocked when people do. I always think people aren't going to read what I wrote (no idea why but I do) and it always shocks me when I get reviews for anything I write. Also, reviews are a great help since I'm taking creative writing this semester. Any opinions I can get help!

E.L. Lockhart: Many thanks for your review and here's the next chapter. I do hope you like this one as much as you liked the last one. This story was just a way for me to pass my time before genetics last year.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in college. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

The mound was an island in the middle of the emerald jewel of an infield. It was the loneliness place in the universe, really, where a man stood trying to keep another set of men from gaining the invisible advantage.

The crowd, packed into the multicolored seats of the stadium, was as live as a power cord. There was a certain kind of energy in the air that only a play off race could bring. Every seat in the caldera of the stadium was filled, the bodies screaming in that good way only a fan friendly home crowd could.

The team, some grim, stern, serious faced while others, like Andy, were smiling brightly with unabashed happiness, had jogged out to their positions. Nick, though, took his time, long legs taking him towards the lonely island that was the pitcher's mound.

The mound was just so with the rosin bag resting on the downward slope of the mound and a shiny strip of bright white rubber in the center. Nick stood on the mound, throwing warm up pitches to Andy while the strains of John Fogerty's "Centerfield" blared over the stadium's loud speaker system.

Though he was physically on the mound at Shea Stadium, Nick's mind was very far away. Truth be told his mind wasn't even in the boro of Queens, where his stadium was located. It had taken the familiar highways and by-ways to Salem Center, Westchester, New York.

"What I wouldn't give to be telepathic right now," he, bitterly, mused as he wheeled back and tossed a way too hard fastball to Andy.

It took him a full minute, as the first batter stepped into the left handed batter's box, to amend his mental statement. The batter glowered at him, his small size deceptive to the pitcher. He was a speedy one but his bat has some power in it. He pegged the previous day's starter for a lead off home run to start the game.

He threw his first pitch- a nice breaking ball that had the batter swinging at nothing- thinking, "I am telepathic but, of course, not in that useful way."

Nick, like his fiancée and all of his friends, was a mutant. The group, as a mater of fact, had become friends during their stay in the only mutant school in the nation---Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

Nick's abilities served him well in his chosen profession, though it was done all in secret. He had been gifted with a surgically accurate flamethrower- literally- for a left arm. It was a highly specific flamethrower, though, since he could only use his ability with a baseball in his hands. His powers were compounded by a low range psychic ability, enabling him to hear only the thoughts of his catcher and the batter in the box. He was "deaf," so to speak, to the thoughts of the others on the field.

He still lived near enough to the school, protected by its umbrella. It was that umbrella that kept the knowledge of his mutant status out of the world's common knowledge. No one within the bounds of Major League Baseball knew he was a mutant. He really had no need to get banned like "Shoeless" Joe Jackson and Pete Rose.

Pitch after pitch, full counts, put outs and pop flies; the game seemed to drag on forever.

Both pitchers, Nick for the New York Mets and a man named Hampton for the Atlanta Braves, were twirling one-hitters. The fans were in awe, watching every pitch with baited breath. This game was going to be decided by one tiny mistake, a slip up by the pitcher or an error in the field.

Neither option seemed likely as both pitchers were on their games and the rest of the teams- the infields and outfields- were playing crisp, clean, sharp games. Scoring seemed like something that wasn't going to happen at all.

Nick's mind, though it was focused on his pitching, had split itself in two. It kept wandering back to Rosie and their friends and the baby whose name he didn't know. They were what was most important to him, since he hadn't seen his real family in ages.

Finding out ones son was a mutant did very little for family relations.

What he wanted, more than anything else, was a sign of some kind. One that would let him know that they were all going to be alright. That this baby was going to live and that maybe, just maybe this game would end.

He threw another pitch of the same velocity the same as it had been earlier on in the game, notching his fifteenth strikeout for the game…a personal high for him during his still young tenure in the major leagues. He didn't even hear the roaring crowd as he stalked towards the dugout to wait out the bottom of the ninth inning.

As per baseball tradition, no one was sitting near Nick on the dugout bench. It had something to do with messing with the pitcher's mind set and hurting his chances for continuing whatever streak he was on.

Nick didn't notice the lack of company anyway. He was still milling around with the thoughts that were dancing their way through his head.

Abandoning his lament for better psychic abilities- since that couldn't change- Nick turned to the almighty baseball gods for help. They'd come to the aid of players, most of the time anyway. Despite their often fickle nature, Nick had no choice but to give them a call. Whatever help they could give was appreciated.

"Hey guys," Nick started, head bowed as if in prayer, "if you could give me a sign that everything's going to be alright, I'd really appreciate it. Oh, yeah, and can we like end this game? I'd really like to go home. There stuff that needs to be done, thanks."

Nick pulled off his sweat stained cap, running a hand through his sweaty hair. All he could do was wait for his sign and for the game to properly end. After all, no coach was mad enough to send him out to pitch the top of the tenth inning.

It seemed like they were headed for the tenth inning. The third baseman, Johnson, had hit a weak grounder to short. Not being particularly fleet of foot, Johnson was easily thrown out. After him was the left fielder Rusch. Rusch hit a sharp line drive that looked as if it was going to fall in for a base hit. Much to everyone's- player and fan alike- chagrin, the ball was snared by the Braves right fielder.

With two men out in the bottom of the ninth inning, Andy came up to bat. The crowd auditable groaned, seeing the rookie step into the batter's box. Normally not a power hitter, Andy had been mired in a deep, deep slump. It seemed he'd forgotten how to hit.

The first pitch, thrown by the Braves closer Benitez, Andy foolish swung at. It was up near his eyes, a bad pitch, a mistake pitch. A ball to be sure. Not something to swing at!

The second pitch was in the dirt, bouncing off home plate, yet Andy swung at it anyway. That brought the "boo birds"- the booing of the fans- out from their nests.

Nick, watching friend flailing at the plate, glared towards the sky. The baseball gods hadn't heard him or, if they had, they were denying him the sign he so desperately wanted. This game was going to go on forever and he wasn't going to get home. He was going to get stuck sitting his rear end on the bench, waiting for something to end this long slow torture.

With a 0-2- no balls, two strikes- count Andy stepped into the batter's box once again. The crowd was booing loudly, someone near the front row hurling the foulest language on the planet at the catcher.

Time seemed to slow itself down as Benitez threw the ball. It slid through the air, tumbling end over end with a syrupy slowness that everyone saw and felt.

With a resounding "crack," the world spend back into normal time again. Faster than the human eye could register, the ball rocketed over the four hundred ten mark.

Like a single minded, many headed entity, the crowd got to their feet and started to roar. Sure, moments ago, they were prepared to throw Andy to the lions but that was forgotten with the crack of the bat. Clutch home runs had the ability to do that.

The team sprinted out, gathering around home plate to greet Andy in the atypical exuberant fashion. That being, them jumping up and down thudding him on the back while he tried to get away.

Nick sprinted out to join the fray, feeing the setting sun warm on his back. He looked up, throwing a thumbs up towards the sky. He'd gotten his sign, sure as anything. What it meant- for good or ill he couldn't say but it was most definitely a sign.


	4. Essere Scosso

AN: Wow! I haven't updated this story in like an age and a half. I'm truly sorry for not doing so. Life has this weird way of getting in the way of doing everything else. Let's see if I can't get myself back on track and get this story updated and stuff. Please, everyone out there in fanfiction land read and review my little work. I don't care if it's good, bad, or indifferent. It's reviews that make writing stuff out worth it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in college. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

Nick wasn't quite sure how he had gotten through the throng of interviews and the post game photo opts that came part and parcel with pitching a good game. Maybe he'd said everything by rote, using clichéd phrases that were older than baseball itself.

At this point, he really didn't care. All Nick wanted to was go home, go back to Rose and his friends. The closest thing he had to a real family.

Equally unsure was Nick on how he managed to get from Shea Stadium in Queens to his home in Westchester in one piece. All he remembered was the blur of cars passing him by on the road as he tried to speed his way back to his place of residence.

Though he couldn't really remember how, Nick eventually found his way back home.

His home was quite different from any other big leaguer's home. They lived in mansions, bought with their six figure salaries, in quiet communities that were far removed from the real world. Maybe it should have been expected of Nick- just a rookie in the big leagues as he was- but Nicholas made his home in a school

The very same school he had attended when he was just a boy--- The Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. The pitcher had all intentions of moving out, eventually, maybe after he got married. Not out of Westchester, per see, since all of his friends lived there, but out of the school. He wanted to remain under the protective umbrella the Xavier School had created.

Parking his car in one of the school's many garages; Nicholas Giacatore followed the familiar route to the underground medical facility.

"Now this is a shocker to say the least," he mused, as he entered the cooled hallways of the school's underground area.

Sitting and standing along the corridor, in many states of disarray, were a large portion of the school's student population. Some looked genuinely concerned about what was taking place just behind the cold metal doors of the medical facility; others looked to be down there for the gossip. Still others were just there to see what all the excitement was about.

"Nicky? Is that you?" came a shrill female voice, as it carried over the din being created by the student population in the hallway.

Continuing to wend his way through the vast crowd, Nick made his way over to the owner of the shrill voice. Many of the gathered students looked at him with a mixture of awe and confusion. He was rather well known in the school as being the first mutant to play a professional sport. At least, the first one they knew about. He'd become something of a cult hero to a few of the boys in the school, much to Nicholas' chagrin.

"Rose," he mumbled, embracing his long time lady love and giving her a quick kiss, "you don't know how good it is to see you. I worried about all of this the entire game."

"But you played like I asked you too, right? None of that silly being taken out in the sixth inning or something," Rose challenged with a tired grin on her face.

"Of course I did! Far be it for me not to bring my A-Game every time. I don't want to be the person to spoil our play off dreams. Let like Wilpon or Minaya take that role," he retorted with some mocking in his voice.

Lowering his tone, he asked, "Who are all these kids? Has there been any change in the situation?"

"These kids are most of Angie's class and their friends. They're worried about her, well, her class is anyway," Rose responded in an almost whisper, "There's no new news really. I can tell you that the baby is a girl and Angie's out of it so she has no name. The professor's going to try to wake her up because you know how Angie is about keeping up traditions. She would want to get all the important ones in just in case the worst happens."

Nick nodded, knowing Angie's dedication to the traditions she'd been raised with. They all were to some degree really since it was the only way to preserve what past they had left and what humanity they could keep close to them.

"Can I go see them?" he asked, "I want to talk to Matt and stuff."

"Yeah, you can. I'm sure Matt could use your friendship right now anyway. He's having a rough time with all of this, you know. This was the last thing he expected and he really isn't getting what's going on. Has no science mind like Angie," Rose answered, starting to lead Nicholas to the door into the facility proper.

"Heya, Miss Addeo, can we go in too?" asked one of the kids lining the hallway.

He was a burly boy with a messy of curly brown hair and equally brown eyes. It was those features that earned him the nickname of "Chocolate" among the rest of the student population.

"Not yet, Chester, maybe later, though," Rose answered, addressing the boy by his given name and making him wince as she did so.

"When she wakes up will you tell her we were asking about her?" proposed a lanky blond haired, blue eyed girl by the name of Trina.

"I'll make sure of it," Nick confirmed as Rose pulled him through the door to the medical center.

Walking about halfway down the suddenly vast room, Nick paused. Though he tried to mentally prepare for what he might see, the reality of it was a strong shock to his system. To see it in person hurt him physically.

Towards the end of the long room was Angelina. She was still very much unconscious and was hooked up to far to many machines, in Nick's opinion. She wasn't the lively, animated person he'd been use to growing up, in the state she was in at the moment.

At the head of the bed sat a familiar bald man. The man responsible for the school and, as such, its namesake: Professor Charles Xavier. If what Rose had told him was true, he was making every attempt to wake Angie from her slumber.

Near the foot of the bed stood three individuals. One was blatantly Matthew- Matt- Angie's husband. He seemed to be trying to watch what was going on with his wife and something in front of him at the same time. At the distance he was standing at, it looked to Nick like he was failing in both endeavors.

His squeaking and flapping sneaker clad feet became direct competition for all the noisy medical equipment in the room. There was an oppressive sort of malaise on the room, a strange silence that seemed to incorporate the noises being made by the medical machinery. A silence that Nick didn't want to break until it was completely necessary.

"Look who turned up, Matt," Rose stated, when they were close enough to the newly minted father in the room.

Obviously distracted and ignoring the falsely happy tone in Rose's voice, Matt turned to face the pair. Matt was the generally happy-go-lucky, loving life type of person that everyone knew existed but did not want to believe it to be so. He loved life no matter what was happening to him. That, though, seemed to have been driven out of him by what had just taken place. His face was grave, set like stone and his usually friendly and happy eyes were wet with unshed tears. Nick knew he was making every effort to be strong for everyone around him, including his newly born daughter.

"I'm so sorry buddy," was all Nick could muster as he shook Matt's hand.

A few beats passed before Matt broached, "Do you want to see her?"

There was a hint- just a touch- of fatherly pride in his voice, making Nick reply, "Of course I do."

Taking a step over, Nick found himself gawking at the same…thing…Matt had been staring at moments prior. In what he recognized to be an incubator, a very small baby lay. The baby was hard to see since she was just a wee bit of a thing and there were many wires and tubes coming out of every available inch of her skin. A white mask covered her eyes and a cap of the same color covered her head. Now that he was closer, Nick found he could make out the familiar _snap-hiss_ of the baby's respirator.

In sharp contrast to the bleak surroundings, someone had taped a garishly pink "It's a Girl" sign to the side of the incubator. It was someone's- Nick wasn't sure whose- attempt to lighten the grave situation up even by the smallest of degrees.

"Who delivered her?" Nick, curiously, asked as he attempted to get over his initial shock at seeing the child for the first time.

"With some help from Dr. Gray, I did," said a voice off of Nick's shoulder.

Turning away from Matt for a moment, Nick recognized the other two figures standing vigil over the child. Next to him was a creature covered in blue fur with an almost ape-like appearance. If Nick hadn't know him for most of his life, he would have been afraid of the blue furred monster. Of course he knew better; Dr. Hank McCoy- also known as Beast- was no monster. Instead he was a skilled researcher and, it seemed, a defacto surgeon.

Next to him, drawing a sharp contrast to the blue furred doctor was a tall red headed woman. Nick recalled her name as Jean Gray. She lacked a codename which had always struck Nick as odd. Now, though, he found he lacked the time to reflect on that little oddity.

"What's the outlook right now, doctor?" Rose asked, slipping into the smallest of spaces between Nick and Dr. McCoy.

"Truth be told, with the infection in her blood and the fact many of her systems were not prepared for the outside world, her chances aren't very good. Even if she does manage to pull through somehow, chances are great there'll be some type of long lasting damage. If she's anything like her parents, though, she'll be fighting like the devil until the very end," Beast answered.

"If the infection does take what little strength she has first," Matt lamented miserably.

"Don't worry," Jean offered, "you'll see that it'll be alright."

"I hope you're right, Jean. I really hope you are," Matt mumbled, eyes going back and forth again from his wife to his daughter.


	5. Chiamare

AN: I'm back for another update! You know, it makes me feel a little better to be able to update this story…though, I know the updates are still infrequent. I'm trying to get that all worked out and stuff. Anywho, please continue to read and review this little adventure from my idle mind. I really do appreciate every review I get and they make it worth while to continue typing out this story! All of you rock like a box of socks in my humble opinion!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in college. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

Angie felt like a drowning swimmer…able to see the surface but not able to break it. Her limbs were like lead, unable to propel her in any direction except downward. Try as she might- and the young woman knew she was putting up an effort and a half- all she kept doing was thrashing about and using up what precious little of her strength remained.

She almost fell into the blackness, into the briny deep of the ocean. It was impossible for her to continue on fighting, battling what she now figured was inevitable. The surface was too far away and she was too tired. She'd gone blissfully numb, now, prepared to meet her fate as best she could.

That was, until a hand caught one of hers and pulled her back into the world above.

"Good evening," said a familiar voice but one that Angie couldn't place at the moment.

She was more concerned with trying to force her gummy eyelids opened so she could get a better glimpse of the world around her. Try as she might, though, her eyelids could not be forced open and she found her hands unwilling to aid her in her task.

Though it seemed like it was taking more than a small effort, Angie managed to force her eyelids opened. The lights above, she found, were far too bright for her to deal with at the moment. Instead, she settled for a slight squint. That way she could see everything but still be protected from that blasted bright light.

"Where am I?" she asked, in a coarse voice.

The young woman winced, her throat dry and painful. There was something very wrong with the situation but her addled brain wasn't working fast enough to comprehend that. It was elusive and fleeting and all together annoying to Angie.

"The medical bay," the same voice, gentler now, answered.

That simple phrase set a shot of hot adrenalin through Angie. Something bad must have happened if she'd wound up in the medical bay. Given her…previous condition….she took her location to be a bad sign. After all, she'd been feeling somewhat terrible for the past few days but she figured it would pass. Like every other ache, pain, and complaint she had before did.

"What happened?" Angie croaked, using the natural hormone to try to force herself to sit up and open her eyes further.

"Angie, my friend, lie still. You don't want to cause your stables to tear your abdominal wall further, do you?" another voice, different from the first, chided.

That was an order Angie didn't need to be given twice. Tearing any muscles, especially the abdominal ones now, was not something she was interested in doing. Still, she hadn't a clue why she had staples in her abdomen in the first place. They, most certainly, didn't belong there now. Maybe in a few months from now but not now….never now.

Rather than her moving, physically, Angie felt the bed movie underneath her. Suddenly, she was in a better position to see the faces of those around her. The lights not being so bright in her eyes anymore, the young woman could make out the very familiar face of Charles Xavier. It was most likely he who had pulled her from the murky depths of her own mind. His was the hand that had pulled her from the ocean.

"What happened?" she asked, again, her words being accompanied by a cough and a strange numb feeling around her midsection.

Into one of her hands ran an IV line that was open to its maximum, draining a fluid into her body. Leads ran off her chest, heading towards the silent bank of machines that made a strange sort of halo around her head. She was the epicenter, the single organic component in a bevy of metallic items.

Angie allowed her mind to wander backwards, replaying what she remembered of the day that had past. She'd woken up with a dull ache in the lower right hand quadrant of her abdomen, a steady ache that she'd been ignoring along with a vague sort of nausea. That had to be normal, right, considering she was expecting a baby. Ignoring those feelings, along with the fact she was considerably warmer than she'd been the night before, Angie had gone about her normal routine. She talked with Matt, her husband, tried to force down something to eat, and gone on her merry way.

The last thing she clearly remembered was taking attendance in the biology class she was assisting until she earned her teaching license. After that everything was very dark.

"You collapsed while you were working, Angie. Two of your students- Chester and Max- brought you down here," Xavier answered, in an almost comforting tone.

"Oh…..staples?" she questioned, wanting to lift the scratchy cover to check out where the staples were and if a good job had been done putting them in.

Given her current company, though, Angie decided against that. Maybe later though when she wasn't under suck close super vision….

"It seems that your abdominal pain and nausea was not a result of the pregnancy as we first suspected, Angie," the second voice, from her left and appearing to be Beast, answered, "It appears you were suffering from acute appendicitis. Since you and I both disregarded the symptoms as being trite and part of your pregnancy, the infection worsened. As far as Dr. Gray and I can tell, your appendix burst. The staples are from the appendectomy and the c-section we were forced to perform."

"What?" was all Angie could blurt as the full weight of what she'd learned crashed onto her already saggy shoulders.

The hand without the IV line moved, seemingly on its own, to find the familiar bulge that was her daughter gone and that area numb. She couldn't even feel the motion of her hand across her stomach as she sought what was not there.

"I'm sorry Angie," Beast continued, "but you were suffering from peritonitis and the infection was rapidly spreading through your blood. There was no other option for either of you. The antibiotics we have you on would have done more harm to her than good."

Someplace in her mind, Angie recognized what Beast was talking about. Peritonitis was inflammation of the membrane surrounding the internal organs caused by bacterial infection. In her case, caused by her burst appendix.

"And…" she prompted, trying not to let sheer terror or panic come over her.

Beast looked to Xavier, who gave the blue furred man the smallest of nods. It was better she learn everything at once. Hold no secrets from her.

"Your daughter's alive but she's fighting a case of bacteremia. She's not breathing on her own yet so we have her hooked up to a vent. We're doing the best we can, Angie. She's on the same meds you are," Beast answered.

Bacteremia….bacteria in the bloodstream…probably put there even as her body tried to provide nutrients for her daughter. If something like that were to happen, then the bacteria must have been something powerful.

"Can…can I see her?" Angie, cautiously, asked.

Part of her was eager to see the newborn. The one she'd thought about so often for the past few months. The other part of her was not so eager. That part of her was afraid, deathly afraid. Afraid of what she was about to see, afraid to become attached to something that might not be alive for very long.

"Of course," Beast replied, leaving the room in a tense and painful silence.

He returned moments later with the portable incubator, along with Jean and Matt. The former was watching another small bank of monitors while the latter appeared to be lugging the temporary power source with him.

"Thank goodness, you're awake. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I lost you too," Matt blurted, rushing over to his now awake wife and hugging her tightly.

"Is this?" Angie started, breaking off when she saw her husband nod.

She took it all in- from the tiny, frail baby, to the brutal, cruel looking machines that were keeping her alive- and the full knowledge of what had transpired. To see its after effects hit home like no home run every could.

"I'm so sorry….so very sorry," she mumbled, sending her words in thought form to the baby as tears sprung to her eyes.

Angie was a short range psychic with advanced knowledge in just the life sciences and math. Her husband had a huge set of bat wings that sprung from his back whenever he felt the slightest bit of stress. His wings produced paralytic, poisonous, or soporific powders on command.

"It's not your fault, Angie. Things happen," Matt, lamely offered.

"It's still not fair….she shouldn't be like this," she protested.

"You know," Rose piped up, trying to lighten the somber mood as she entered the room with Nick in tow, "it's going to be difficult for her to go though life as 'she.' Do you two have a name for this little bundle?"

Angie looked to Matt and he looked right back at her. They hadn't thought of a name yet. Sure, they'd narrowed it down but a final decision hadn't been made. The two of them had decided to see what name suited the baby at birth.

"Hope," Angie, finally, announced, using a name she and Matt hadn't discussed, "because I hope she gets well and, when she does, I hope the world will be a different place for her when she gets older."

Matt gave her a quizzical look but tested the name out, "Hope? You know, I like it. Hope D'Amichi."

'You two do realize that her name is going to translate into 'hope of friends,' right?" Nick pointed out with a smirk.

"And your last name means 'player,'" Rose challenged, "so shut your face."

Still the mood was painfully somber but Nick's ill timed comment was enough to lighten it for just a moment, giving everyone the excuse to laugh. All the while, Angie tried to figure out what the strange tickling sensation in the back of her mind was.


	6. Lo Scienziato

AN: Another Update! I hoped I could update sooner but strange circumstances forced me to have to go looking for the notebook I wrote this story in. Next time, I put like a bell or something on the book so I know where to find it. I'm not really sure what a bell will do but it could work. Anywho, I'll try to get the next update up a bit sooner or something. Please, continue to read and review my little misadventure in the world of The X-Men. I greatly appreciate any and all reviews I get.

LJP: Hiya there! Hope's trying something but it might or might not work. You'll see soon what comes to pass.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in college. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

_From the journal of Hank "Beast" McCoy_

Despite our best efforts to combat the infection plaguing young Hope D'Amichi, her status remains the same nearly three weeks after her auspicious entrance into the world. Even with the most powerful antibiotics I have available to me, the bacteremia does not seem to want to abate.

Thus far, I have tried several of the more common antibiotics with Hope to no avail. The strains that are coursing through her underdeveloped circulatory system appear to either be resistant to any known treatment. Unless, of course, science had played one of its many wonderful jokes on us and allows us to kill off the weaker bacterial strains, leaving only the strongest- and most resistant- strains to flourish. If this is the case, I find no amusement in it as the child is suffering greatly.

Since she was born prematurely, Hope lacks the proper immune system to combat this infection. Normally, a child's immune system has time to develop post birth and can be augmented by a mother's choice on how her child is to be fed during the first few months of its life.

Angelina- Hope's mother- lacks this option for several reasons. She, herself, is on strong doses of IV vancomycin in order to combat her own case of bacterial blood poisoning. She is; of course, under careful observation as this antibiotic has many side effects I do not wish to add to Angelina's laundry list of problems. I do not believe these strong doses of antibiotics will be beneficial for Hope as her system is already under great amounts of stress. Also, Hope is unable to perform any of the necessary reflex actions in order to be able to take such nourishment from her mother. Even if the child was able to, the respirator prevents her from doing so.

I have started trying to passively immunize the child in the hopes that, by giving her packed white blood cells, she will be able to fight the infection in her blood. Thus far, the treatment seems to be only working minimally.

If Hope is able to pull through this experience and come off the respiratory, there is still cause for concern. Genetic testing I have done- With permission from Angelina and Matthew, of course. - has provided me with something of an interesting conundrum. Hope is an eventually that we could never have anticipated.

It was once though that a child with such gross genetic mutations as I am seeing in Hope could not survive long, even if said child survived to some point in the pregnancy. Hope seems to have survived somehow, attesting to the power of the so-called "X-gene."

What worries me most is the strong abnormality she seems to be showing in chromosome seven. There is only one mutation that I can think of, off the top of my blue furred head that comes from having such an abnormal chromosome seven. Still, I do not know if this will be the expected result as Hope's karyotype shows many different types of mutations. I am unsure, at this point, of how these mutations will interact with one another. That is, if they interact at all.

As I sit here in the medical bay, just finishing checking Hope's incubator, one must wonder what force of nature decried a child like this to be born. A daughter of mutants, born under the worst possible circumstances I could think of. If she manages to survive, what type of future will she have?

Though it sounds cruel and heartless, I am glad her mother is allowing those here at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters the opportunity to "study" her daughter. She is an interesting case, something that may warrant journal articles to be published about her unique genetic make up.

So long as we also understand she is human as well. She is a child and not a lab rat. I must remember this in order to fulfill my duty as Hope's Godfather.

My stars and garters,

Beast


	7. Si Preoccupa

AN: Ah! The fun of the end of the semester rush. Everything from term papers to finals and everything in between. Plus trying to get stuff together for graduation. That's always a good time. Anywho, thanks for putting up with the delay and, without any further ado, here's the next update. I should apologize for the technical aspects of the previous chapter (which I had to correct a bit). I was just having a bit of fun and trying to write as Beast would think. I'm sorry! Please continue to read and review my little story, though, and feel free to ask away about any of the scientific craziness I write about.

LJP: Sorry about the technical stuff! As for the wonky chromosome, which I had to change to seven because I got all confused typing that update at 2:30AM, that'll be revealed in time. It's got something to do with Hope's personality and appearance, though.

Lindiel Eryn: Just biology, actually. I hope to get into genetics. I've taken enough anatomy, physiology, biochemistry, and microbiology classes, though, to be pre-med. I'm glad you liked the chapter, though!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in college. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

Time passed…as it had for many years. Still, Hope's condition remained the same. Well, relatively the same. She'd grown slightly on IV nutrition and they'd been able to remove the white cloth from her eyes. She hadn't chosen to open them but they were no longer in danger of being damaged by outside light.

Her mother, too, was recovering from her own infection and operation. Angelina was mobile, now, though most of her time was spent sitting with her ailing daughter. Thankfully, and after many threats of physical harm once she was well again, Beast had taken her off the IV antibiotics.

She wasn't too fond of the medication, even if it had helped to clear up the infection in her blood. The trade off, in Angelina's mind, was not a fair one. She was required to take a slow IV drip- an hour or more depending on how much was in the bag- that hurt as it trickled into her arm. Then, of course, there was the worry about the medication- called Vancomycin or "the drug of last resort-"causing blood clots. Thankfully, she'd avoided that little side effect.

Angie was glad to see she wasn't alone in her watch. Other than Matthew, of course, she'd been paid visits by other members of the school's teaching staff and her extended mutant family. Once she was well enough, even students had come down to visit. Many of them had complimented her on how much better she looked and how adorable the baby was. She figured most of them were saying that in order to get a better grade or something from her.

At the moment, though, she was sitting alone. It was the dead of nigh, star and moonlight filtering into the darkened room. She hadn't bothered with the lights, since there were a few students down in the room getting treated for some kind of allergy attack. All she had one was a small lamp, illuminating the stack of papers she was looking over.

It seemed, to Angie, that she was the only one who had faith that her daughter- Her Hope- would improve. That her condition would improve and she would be able to grow up normally. Odds were against her daughter but hope, the quintessential human delusion while simultaneously the greatest source of their strength- still sprouted in Angie's chest.

Hank and Jean would quote her medical facts she knew but Angie managed to ignore them in the way every good parent was able to do where their children were involved.

Matt would just fret about, worried and scared. The science aspect, where Angie was comfortable, had managed to go over his head. He was a chef in training, science was not his thing.

Someone- A student she guessed but Angie wasn't sure- had asked about "pulling the plug." Angie wasn't exactly pleased with that suggestion. That was one thing she hadn't considered doing, not even in her bleakest dreams.

All Hope needed was time, she had started to insist. That was the answer to the entire riddle. Well, one of many riddles her daughter seemed to possess. The little girl who lay immobile in her little controlled environment was a box full of riddles to be answered. Every time she sat with her daughter, doing anything old thing, there was a faint but definite tickling sensation in the back of her mind. It was a strange feeling, like someone or something was trying to make contact with her. She wasn't quite sure how, though, since there were no psychics in the room.

Still, it was all very strange.

"Hey," came a voice from behind Angelina as she sat in her little seat, "go get some sleep. I'll take the watch for now. You get some rest; you have class in the morning."

Angie looked up and smiled, standing behind her was Matthew. He was watching the pair with a very fierce and protective look on his face. Sure, he didn't really believe that their daughter could survive this ordeal and come out the other end still in one piece. His wife, though, he could still protect. In some way, anyway.

"And you have work in the morning," Angelina retorted, "I don't want you to be stuck snoring into like the potato salad."

Matthew gave a nervous sounding laugh and corrected, "Actually, it would be pasta but you get the picture. I can show up late this week because Angelo and Gianna are working too. I'll be fine. Go to bed. I'll sit up with her."

"You sure?" she asked standing and stretching her arms above her head.

"Very," he answered, giving his wife a kiss before taking up her seat and going towards the exit, "Get to bed. I'll see you before you have class."

Angie laughed and headed off to go to bed. The faint tickling in her mind slowly faded away with almost a sense of sadness. Whatever this tickling was, it missed her as she walked away. Truth be told, she missed the tickle too. It kept her company during her long hours sitting in the medical bay, despite the fact it was strange and weird and many other things.

Still, she had class to teach in the morning. Her first class since she'd given birth in the most auspicious way possible. She'd best be on her way and on her way she went.


	8. Apra Gli Occhi

AN: Hi Everybody! As of last Friday, I am officially a college graduate! I had my degree (Bachelor of Sciences) conferred in Lincoln Center-Avery Fischer Hall. Now it's on to Graduate's School. Two more years of school for me! (Yes, I'm crazy. Yes, I do like school!) The best gift I got for graduation was four tickets to see Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith at 12:01 AM the Thursday it opened. The movie was beyond excellent, though it was a lot darker than any other Star Wars movie. Anyway, I'm sorry for the delay because, other than graduation, I got stuck planning a talent show for my Girl Scout Troop as well as a trip to the circus. I'm better now though, having stuck the end of the year ceremonies on one of the other leaders. Hopefully she won't pass it back on to me since I planned it last year. Thanks for the reviews and I'm hoping now that I'm on vacation, I can update more often.

LJP: I Bet you've got a very good read on where this is going but I'm not going to say either way for now.

Lindiel Eryn: Hope's got some very…strange…powers, least of all the fact she may or may not be subconsciously communicating with her mother. Still, it may be useful later for her, or maybe in the short term. You shall soon see.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in college. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

"Can anyone tell me the differences between DNA and RNA?" Angelina- at the moment being called Mrs. D'Amichi by a roomful of rather board looking students- requested.

It was midmorning and she was addressing one of the many Introduction to Biology classes she'd been assigned to teach. It was only a few days into her return to teaching and she'd jumped into the work feet first. Though it was a distraction from the near constant worry she had for her daughter, it was both a bad and a good thing. She knew she had to get back to teaching, get back to her life as it was before her daughter's birth. If that meant facing a class of board looking students at an hour they had deemed too early for their liking, so be it.

Of course, the distraction upset her as well. It made her feel as f she was being a negligent parent somehow. That because she wasn't constantly at her daughter's side, there was something wrong with her, that she was unable in some way. It was only the constant reassurances from her husband and from the other she worked with that Hope was never actually alone that gave her the strength to get back to work.

"One had a 'D' and the other has a 'R'" called a tall boy from the back of the room that seemed to be more interested in doodling on his paper than actually paying attention.

Angie glared at him, since he'd broken one of the cardinal rules in her class and not raised his hand and waited to be called on. Ordinarily she would have given him a mild punishment for his actions but decided against it. She hadn't been a regular teacher for these students because of her stint in the medical bay and her rules, apparently, hadn't been enforced by her substitute.

"We raise our hands in this class, Fredrick, and we don't call out," she reprimanded, "but you're on the right track. Can anyone tell me what the difference in the 'D' and the 'R' represent? He's given us a big hint here, kids."

There was a dead silence in the room as most of the students averted their eyes from the woman standing in front of the room. It was a common tactic students used when trying to avoid answering a question. They figured- as she had when she was a student- that if they avoided eye contact with the instructor they were less likely to be called on. Little did they know- She'd learned this only after taking a teaching position. - that the less eye contact they made, the more likely they were to be called on.

"Come on, guys, think about it. We've got a big hint sitting in front of us," she nearly begged, wondering how many of her students actually did the assigned work.

The next phase of student avoidance started with her near begging. She watched as the room became a hive of activity. Students rifled through their textbooks and their notebooks as they searched for an answer. Angie knew this was mostly for show as maybe less than half the class was doing the assigned searching. The rest were just trying to look like they were doing the work in order to avoid being reprimanded.

While they searched, Angie's eyes roved from her class to her desk. It was on her desk that something caught her attention. A small light, red in color, flashed from the top of her watch.

Well, what had once been her regular wrist watch.

The device had been modified in order blink when it received a signal from the medical bay. A signal for good or for ill, though Angie hoped it was for good. Since being attached, the small light had only blinked once and that had been during a test run of the transponder. Other than that, though, the small light had been dead. There had been no change in Hope's status until now.

"Class, books away. Something's come up and I have to go. I want these differences on my desk by next class," she ordered, starting to sound frantic as she was fighting the urge to run from the room and head straight down to the medical bay.

She couldn't just leave her class sitting there, though, without work to do. There was something highly unethical about that to her since she was a teacher. It was enough that she'd been absent from the class for so long in the first place. There was catching up that needed doing.

"What's wrong, Mrs. D?" someone asked, "you alright?"

"Me? Yeah," she answered in a distracted way as she ran from the room ,"Something's come up and I need to see to it now. Be good kids and do your work."

Every hallway was too crowded for her linking and every elevator was too slow for her use. Angie was growing more and more impatient as the light on her watch winked and blinked with a sort of urgent insistence. It wanted to be acknowledged, to share its message with her. That sharing had to wait, though, as Angie was subjected to all sorts of inconveniences of the modern world.

Still, she made it down to the medical bay in record time. Though she was breathless and tired looking as she darted down the length of the room, she made her way towards the one person who would know most about her daughter's case. That being Beast.

"What's going on, Hank?" she asked, nearly frantic, "Has there been a change?"

"Listen," was all the blue furred mutant replied with a mischievous smile on his face.

Quieting down both her mind and her body, Angie noticed the usual "snap-hiss" of her daughter's respirator. That was what was missing from the usual noise in the room.

Seeing realization dance across the woman's face, and making sure to allay her fears, Beast explained, "I came in early today and I found Hope struggling against the respirator. I extubated her some time ago in order to test her breathing abilities and see if this was not a futile struggle. The little tough girl has been breathing on her own since then."

All the horrible thoughts that had been dancing through Angie's head were dispelled with that one phrase. She almost couldn't believe her ears, almost being the operative word for her.

"She's breathing on her own?" Angie repeated, more to herself than to anyone else in the room.

She wanted to turn that phrase over in her mind a few times and marvel at it. Most took breathing on their own for granted, as some simple action done by the involuntary muscles in the body. Angie knew she never would again after all of the struggle and the worry and the fear that this day would never come. It was the first sign of her daughter being properly alive and maybe even able to leave this medically based room and come live in the room Matthew claimed he had prepared for her.

Beast smiled, watching the change in his friend's expression. This was something to see. Something that one did not always get to see when working with cells in a dish or with grumpy students.

"And the infection?" Angie broached, wanting to know of the other danger her daughter had been faced with at birth.

"Our aggressive treatments are finally showing good results. It's subsided enough that I think you can take her home later. I'd just like to keep her under observation for a few more hours, just to be sure. I don't want anything to happen when she gets home, even if we all live on the same floor," Beast answered with a smile.

"Can I see her?" Angie requested, almost giddy in tone and action, "Please?"

With a nod, Beast lead the way over to what once her daughter's prison. No longer hooked up to a multitude of tubes and covered with wire leads was how Angie found her daughter. She was asleep, though she looked like any little girl Angie had ever seen. Not really any since, in Angie's most biased opinion, she was the most perfect child she'd ever seen.

"I'll give you one better," Beast joked with a smile, "if you sit there, I'll let you hold her. I think you're the only one who hasn't yet and you deserve that honor now."

He placed the baby in her arms, the familiar tickle increasing to something more knowing and firmer, making Angie smile even brighter. She was light and almost frail looking. The latter wasn't helped by her pasty pale complexion as it made her look even sicker. Her pale skin tone was sharply contrasted by her fine mop of mousy brown hair that was sweat plastered to her forehead.

There was something about her facial features, placid in sleep that woke the most unwelcome scientific portion of Angie's brain. Hope's nose was small and upturned, her lips full and her upper lip long. Her chin was smaller than what would have been considered normal. There was something almost elven to their quality really.

As Angie was trying to silence the scientific portions of her mind, Hope's eyes slipped opened. They were gray-blue but Angie knew that they would shift to dark hazel soon to match both her and Matt's eye color. The small eyes seemed to sparkle with a strange sort of intelligence, a knowing of the person whose arms held her at the moment.

Looking down into her daughter's eyes, Angie's breath caught in her throat. It looked as if someone had taking the smallest tweezers ever and placed tiny bits of white lace on the eyes of her daughter. The pattern looked as if tiny white starbursts had taken up residence in the eyes of her child.

"You know, Angie, that's only the second time she's opened her eyes in her entire life," Beast pointed out, trying to draw Angie away from the conclusion that had been swirling through his more qualified mind.

Angie, shaking off her sudden shock and fear, recalled that the first time was just after they'd removed the white pads on her eyes, allowing her to view the world around her. It was a short view, though, as she shut them tightly again.

"They say a baby opens its eyes only once after birth- or in Hope's case after she was able to safely- and takes in everything it can. She saw you, Hank, so I think she knew she was in good hands," Angie retorted.

"Who says that?" Beast asked, curiously.

"The world's greatest thinker alive…my Grandmother Galante," Angie answered with a laugh.

The laughing lasted all of a very long moment before Angie brought up, "Her eyes…the way she looks…she's not what I think she is, Hank, is she?"

The blue furred mutant looked Angie in the eyes, trying his best to sympathize with her, and answered, "Angie…Hope's a Williams' baby."


	9. I Medici

AN: I'm sorry for the prolonged absence for the world of fanfiction. Strange as it may sound for a person who hand writes all her stories before hand but the muse seemed to take a flying leap and disappear on me. I have no idea why and really wish I could give all of you a really good reason. Alas I have none. It was more like I just couldn't bring myself to type anything up to post on the site. Hopefully, I'm back now and since it's summer and I'm free from school and dance class and Girl Scouts, I'll be able to get things back to normal. Anyway, I hope all of you reviewers stick around to review again. There's a bit more on the ride for this and my other stories.

LJP: Sorry for the technical jargon. Too many science classes for me over to past few years. I'll be explaining what William's Syndrome is right now. Though, this is an X-Men story so there may be a few…alterations…to what the genetic disorder really entails.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in college. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

"You're kidding me, right?" Angelina asked, holding the baby all the tighter as if she could shield her daughter from the truth.

Every part of her was hoping, whishing, desiring that Hank was wrong. That there had been some mistake in the genetic testing and that Hope was perfectly normal. Well, as normal as one could be with two mutants for parents. Angelina had understood all the risks and all the problems that could occur once she found out she was expecting a baby. She was well aware of the fact that there was a good chance the baby wouldn't survive all that long, that her body would reject, so to speak, such an individual with a strange mix of DNA.

Angelina was inordinately pleased when Hope, before she knew she was her daughter of course, had lasted as long as she did. It was something like a strange twist of fate that robbed her daughter of a chance to be brought to term and born healthy. It wasn't because her body was rejecting a child with gross genetic defects.

Still there were defects, obvious ones where William's Syndrome was concerned. Despite the fact Hope looked different- With eyes and facial features that were telling of her genetics- she really did still love her. There wasn't any reason not to love the little girl.

After all, every mother had to love their child no matter what. Though, those words did sound false and hollow to her as Angelina knew stories of mothers who had rejected their own children once they found out they were mutants. She already knew that she wouldn't do that to Hope, though, if she happened to manifest powers that would be normal. They did live in a school for mutants.

"I wish I was Angie," Hank answered, hanging his head, "I wish there was something else I could tell you but there isn't. From what I can make out from Hope's rather muddled karotype, she is a William's baby."

Angie sighed, running a finger over the small arms of her daughter. Just when she thought things were on the up and up, that they were going to get better, fate had to go and throw the curve ball at her and Matt. This was something else entirely, something totally unexpected.

Seeing the young woman's distraction, Hank asked, "You do know what William's Syndrome is, correct?"

That woke Angelina up from her mental musings. She gave Hank one of those "do-I-look-stupid-to-you" stares even though she was wearing a small smile. A content smile that he knew she was wearing because she was with her daughter for the first time. No matter what condition the child was in. No matter what the circumstances were and no matter what she and Matt were going to have to face in the future.

"I do, actually, but if it'll make you feel better you can remind me. Maybe it'll help me for later," Angie commented.

"Help you for later?" Beast asked, "I'm not sure I follow your line of logic, Angie. I understand you are probably feeling very stressed but if you understand what it is why do you need help for later."

Angie smiled again and explained, "I know what William's Syndrome is. You know what it is. Jean and Charles know what it is but that's probably about it. I'm going to have to explain this to Matt later on so maybe your explanation will help me do just that. You know, give me new words to use."

Thinking quickly, she added, "You know what aspects of the syndrome Hope does and doesn't have already so you can tell me what I can leave out. Sure as anything I'm scared but I don't want to scare Matt. Only one of us should have to worry about this and I'm better qualified."

Hank wanted to say something about not telling Matt everything not being fair but he figured it wasn't his place. He was, surely, both their friends but he didn't feel he had the right to discuss what went on in their little marriage. Besides, Angelina did have a point. She was the one who was better qualified to worry about Hope's medical conditions. Maybe Matt not knowing was better since he could try and give her a more normal childhood.

Pulling out his already growing medical file on Hope, Hank flipped a few pages. With swift eyes he read over his notes before starting to speak.

"Starting from the top, Hope's an unusual case because she's showing none of the atypical cardiac problems. She has no heart or blood vessel problems but," he started before Angie cut it.

"We're going to have to monitor her for that, just to be safe," Angie said.

With a nod and a low chuckle, the blue furred scientist continued, "She's not showing any of the atypical problems with her blood calcium levels nor is she showing the poor reflexes associated with feeding. I am not saying they're not there only that I don't know if they are since Hope has been fed intravenously for most of her young life. You're going to have to watch out for them along with the problems developing a sleeping rhythm."

"I know about the failure to thrive issues. Hope is going to be rather short, then," Angie said, throwing in what she knew as well, "Well, being short we can deal with. There are plenty of good short people out there and I know about the muscle tone issues as well. Am I correct in assuming that you'd set up a physical therapy regimen if need be?"

"Of course, though I am not seeing any of the normal join and muscle problems either. There's also a particular absence of renal problems as well but we'll have to monitor her for those as well," Beast answered, "those are just the immediate problems, of course. There are others, you know."

This time it was Angie who nodded and started, "You have the fact that there may be some learning difficulties but that varies dental issues, sensitive hearing, overly friendly personalities and concentration problems. Am I missing anything?"

"You seemed to have forgotten some of the more wonderful aspects of William's Syndrome," Hank pointed out.

"I did?" Angie asked, looking at the little girl in her arms.

All the talk with big science words must have tired the small girl out. She was fast asleep in her mother's arms.

"Well, yes. You've forgotten that William's children are musically inclined. You know, there's a good chance that Hope will have, among other skills, perfect pitch and she may even be musically gifted," he pointed out, "among any other physical gifts her unique genetic situation might have provided her."

That made Angie smile. For every difficulty her daughter might have in her future, she could have some benefit too. She wasn't sure why that particular aspect of Hope's condition might have slipped her mind but she was glad Beast had reminded her of it. It would be interesting to see if her daughter developed any of the musical talents those with William's Syndrome were know to have.

"Now, I hate to break this up but I know you have a class to teach," Hank said, glumly.

"Do I have to Hank? I really just want to sit her with her and hold her for about a year," Angie challenged.

"I know you do but I want to just observe her for a short while before you take her home. Make sure there are no undue complications," Hank countered.

With a small sigh and placing a kiss on the head of her sleeping daughter, Angie passed her to the blue furred medic who was caring for her.

She'd be counting the minutes now, until the end of the day. The minutes until she and Matt got to be parents to their daughter…no matter what condition she suffered from.

It was just another bump- like discovering they were mutants- in the road. Though, as she walked out of the medical bay and back to her classes, Angie realized that she'd forgotten to tell Hank about the weird tickling sensation in her head. With a shrug, she reminded herself to tell him next time.

It didn't seem all that important now, anyway.


	10. Storia Della Madre

AN: Hiya everyone! Hope everyone is enjoying their summer vacations or whatever they are doing this summer. Other than trying to get a professor to register me for classes in the fall, everything's quiet by me. Well, as quiet as things get when you're trying to plan a Girl Scout Trip to an amusement park. Anyway, I'm glad you're enjoying my story and leaving me reviews! I greatly appreciate them and they really help to make a day just a little better. All of you rock like a box of socks!

My PenName is . . .: Updating right now! I do hope this was soon enough for you. I'm trying not to take forever and trying not to allow the muse for this story to take a walk again. That was no fun last time. I'm glad you like the story, though!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in graduate's school. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

_From the Private Journal of Angelina "Bio" D'Amichi_

Well the big day finally came- Actually the big day came and went a few months back but that's really beside the point, is it? - and Hope finally came home to live. There have been very few days in my life that I've truly been able to say that I was elated and I think today was one of them. It's a very powerful feeling, you know, to finally be able to bring your child home with you.

Actually, there were a lot of surprises today, other than Hope coming home to live with Matt and I. I'm nearly one hundred percent- Speaking of one hundred percents, I need to get on with grading those test papers. Those poor students of mine will have my head if I don't get them graded by the end of the week.- sure that Matthew had quite a bit to do with some of the surprises today held. Not that I didn't have a few of my own.

Me and my wandering mind! I'm getting ahead of myself. It's a wonder that they allow me to teach anything in this place. It's a wonder I can teach with all the tangents my mind goes on. Maybe that's why the classes seem to go by so quickly for me.

There I go again! I'm going on tangents. I wish I could tell you to stop me but, since you're nothing more than a blue spiral notebook with yellow duckies- Sue me, I like ducks. - on the front in shower caps, there's very little you can do.

Ok….on with the story before my mind wanders off again.

I went down to pick up Hope at the end of the workday. Instead of finding Hank, Jean, or Charles down there with her, I found two of my students sitting with her. Both were boys- Two of my personal favorites, technically. - and both were wearing the guiltiest smiles on their faces. True, they were trying not to look guilty but, I'm a teacher, so give me some credit in being able to sniff out guilt like a blasted bloodhound. It's no mutant power! It's simple skill.

Anyway, the human beanpole that was Max informed me that he and Chester- My buddy Chocolate- were my honor guard. They were going to take me and Hope up to our new quarters. If they noticed anything different about my daughter, they both had the good grace not to say anything. Maybe it was more fear since I held their science grades in my hand.

Of course, two students were not what I was expecting to go home with. I asked where Matt was to which Chocolate- Despite what everyone else says, I REFUSE to call him Chester since the boy plainly hates that name. Likewise, I refuse to call him "The Artisan" or whatever other silly codename he's using. - gingerly replied that Matt was still trying to put the crib together or something.

Another lie but I wasn't going to call the two of them on it. Up until a few days ago, I wasn't even keen on looking at the crib. In one of my better moods, I probably told poor Matt- who has been a saint through this whole messy affair but don't tell him that. - to take the thing down. It was making me sad by its mere presence.

Maybe, for once, he had done what I said. If that was the case, maybe he was putting it back up.

Either way, I went upstairs to my "new" home with Hope. Chester and Max walked before me, wingmen to my main fighter plane or something like that. I'm not the history buff, that's Matt's job. I'm the science geek but, again, that's beside the point.

Once it was found out I was pregnant, Charles- Who has to be one of the most tolerant men on the planet. I mean, he puts up with people like me all the time. - allowed Matt and I to move into one of the larger quarters on the teacher's floor. Set Matt and I up with a nice little set of rooms since neither of us wanted to leave the school. Kind of like a house within a house or something.

Chester and Max hesitated- total tip off! - before opening the door. I don't know what I was expecting- Something like people jumping from behind the furniture or something like that. Typical surprise party deal except it wasn't anyone's birthday. - but nothing happened. The rooms were obsessively neat and clean as they always were. Aside from the smell of fresh pain- Which I didn't understand because I hadn't done any painting recently- the place was just like Matt and I left it this morning before I went down to teach and he went off to his job at a local trattoria e bar.

Since Max and Chester didn't know where Hope's room was, they allowed me to take the lead. I didn't argue since this was my house- Such as it was- and I was eager to show Hope her room. Do that really typical mom thing and all that jazz.

No sooner had I opened the door, than Matt nearly tumbled out at my feet. There was his big surprise for me. Not the room full of people- Well, they were part of it, I guess- but the room itself.

Now, I had done Hope's room before she was born but I hadn't been happy with it. There was something missing about it. You know, that cute something that made all kid's rooms….well, kid's rooms. The way I had done it, the room had turned out too cold and logical. Everything in its place for its uses and no personal style but I'm a scientist and not an interior decorator.

Whatever was missing, though Matt and company had found.

I was standing in the middle of an honest to goodness fairyland. Someone- and I had a sneaking suspicion who- painted the biggest mural I had ever seen. It covered all four walls with lakes and waterfalls. Brightly colors woods and castles and unicorns. I even fancied that I could see hobbits, elves, and wizards in there too. The ceiling was blue, of course, set with stars. From my minor knowledge of astronomy, I figured they were in proper formations. The floor was carpeted in white.

All of the furniture was different too. I had wound up with cheap looking white stuff that might have been molded plastic or something for all I knew. Now it was all dark colored wood. The proper stuff, you know, right down to the rocking horse in the corner.

There were books on the bookcase- Mostly children's book but I found a copy of one of James Watson's books on discovering the DNA molecule. Three guesses who had stuck that in there. - and a handful of toys in the crib.

One of the students in the room called for me to check the drawers and, before I could do so, I was confronted by Matt. We kissed and everyone in the room either cheered or turned away blushing and I handed him his wide awake and very upset daughter.

Did I mention that William's babies are very sensitive to loud sounds?

While Matt tried to get Hope to calm down for him, I investigated everything. I must have looked like crazy kid or something as I opened drawers to find them stocked with baby clothes. There was even a small Mets uniform with the number thirteen on the back. Thanks Nick for that. We can never start that too early now can we?

There were even toys in the toy box for crying out loud.

Now I wasn't a slouch at buying baby things- Like any new mom I wanted everything but I didn't have enough money to buy it. - but I didn't have the time or the funds to buy half this stuff. Stuff just doesn't appear on its own so I turned to the gathered for an answer.

Turned out the day I got sick Rose- Who was my best friend from my days as a student and Hope's Godmother now. - was planning on throwing me one of those surprise baby showers complete with the cute little games and everything. This was despite the fact I had told everyone that I wanted no gifts before the baby was born. My Grandmother Galante had told me when I was a little girl that it was frightfully unlucky to accept gifts for the baby until after the baby was born.

Since the shower never came to pass, this was the next best thing. All of the furniture was bought by assorted members of the older staff. The teacher and Nick and Rose. Everything else- Except for the mural which was an exclusive gift from Chocolate- was from some of the students, bought with whatever money they had saved.

Ok…I admit it. Once I learned all of this, I started to cry. Overwhelmed with everything that had happened that day and all.

Once Matt and I were left alone- Everyone had a turn to hold the baby and no one said a single word about her…different….features. - I told him what I had learned about Hope. Tried to explain as best I could the genetic disorder our daughter had. Much to my surprise, Matt took it all in stride. All her cared about was her being alive and well.

I'm sure he's just covering up what he's really feeling since I found him looking very glum over Hope's crib after we put her down to sleep. Maybe I'll try to talk to him some more before I get to sleep.

Scratch that….Hope's crying again. Just like Hank predicted, she's not going to develop a sleep rhythm. Probably because I think she has colic but that's just me.

Anyway, got to cut this short.

A very Happy Mommy,

Bio


	11. Dormire

An: I'm excited and it's for the dumbest reason ever. I finally got in touch with my professor and scheduled an appointment for registering for classes next week. Points for me, I guess, since my mom and I couldn't catch this guy if we tried. I'm not sure what kinds of classes I'm taking, other than the fact they're going to be science related because I'm going to a Master's Degree in biology. Well, if anything, I'll be getting more ideas for messing with mutants and their powers from school once it starts. That always has to be a good thing I guess. Anyway, here's my latest update from the guts of my computer. I thank you all kind reviewers for your opinions. Please continue sending them along because- like you- they rock like a box of socks.

My PenName is . . .: Well I hope this was fast enough for you when it comes to updating. I'm glad you liked the chapter and I hope you like this one as well.

E.L. Lockhart: Welcome back! I'm sorry you missed the updates and I also apologize for them being so blasted infrequent. Hopefully, that'll change. Anyway, I'm glad you still like my story and hope you'll continue to like it as it goes along.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in graduate's school. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

There were many things Angie knew she had to be thankful for. Thankful for her family and her friends. For the fact her daughter was relatively healthy and happy and as normal as one could expect give her condition. For the face she was living in one of the safest places on the earth for people like her. Maybe even for the fact the Xavier School was still a safe haven for mutant children and adults alike.

Most of that was forgotten, though, at an inhuman hour of the night with an obviously upset child in her arms. She was home alone- well, in her quarters alone- since Matt was working a late shift in the trattoria e bar he worked in. Where her passion was teaching, his was cooking. Matt had finished his chef's training and was working towards either taking charge of the kitchen of his place of work or opening his own Italian deli.

Angie knew it was important for him to work as long as he could and show that he was willing to do the tasks that no one else wanted to- like take late shifts in order to prepare pastry shells for the next day- but she didn't like it at the moment.

"Come on, Hope," Angie cajoled, bouncing the child in her arms, "don't you want to go to sleep so mommy can get some sleep too. I have to work in the morning and no one wants a teacher falling asleep on them during class. Actually, I know some students who might but that sort of behavior is frowned upon."

She wasn't quite sure Hope understood her words or understood anything at all except the most basic of feelings but it made her feel better to talk to the child.

Hope, for her part, stared up at her mother with her unusual looking eyes. They had shifted in color to a dark hazel but that change hadn't been enough to hide the lacy starburst patterns that were in her eyes.

Actually, none of her unusual features had changed. They just seemed to be getting stronger as if they were determined to mark Hope as something out of the ordinary. Well, out of the ordinary in the outside world. Here in a school full of mutants there was nothing unusual about her. Appearance wise anyway. In every other way, Angelina wasn't sure yet.

Much to Angie's everlasting delight, Hope had stopped her loud crying. Her determined wailing as if the world was doing something horrible to her. In the few weeks she had been home with her parents, Hope had shown that she was not even going to bother developing a rhythm to her sleep. No pattern was ever going to be established no matter how hard Angelina and Matt tried to set one.

Oddly enough, where most William's babies had heart and kidney problems, Hope showed symptoms of neither. Rather, she had a startling propensity towards chest and other respiratory problems. At the moment, she was battling, yet another, chest infection.

Her breathing was rough, coarse like sandpaper and painful sounding. She was coughing something awful and had been for several days, thus causing what she figured was a sore throat. Like anyone with a bad cough, Angie figured her daughter was having some problems with pain in her chest, particularly below her diaphragm.

Yet another thing to keep her awake at night and prevent her mother from getting a good night's sleep.

A coughing fit rattled the little girl's body as she lay in her mother's arms. Angie waited with baited breath as she dared to hope that her daughter wasn't going to start crying again. The last coughing fit had left the little girl screeching for several long minutes.

No crying came though as the little girl simply looked up at her mother with a most pitiful expression on her small face. As pitiful as a small child could have of course, though it may have all been in the mind of her very tired mother.

In Angie's mind, though, there was a strange otherworldly feeling being shot through it. Feelings that were most obviously not her own were dancing through it, trying to make her aware of them. Trying to motivate her to do something though neither her mind nor the other was sure what that something was.

The other mind, being, whatever, was uncomfortable and hurting. Sore, scared and tired all at once. It wanted to sleep- it really did- but every time it went to something went horribly wrong and it had to wake up again. It wanted something to make that stop and to make it better.

Underlying all of that, though, was a feeling of security and comfort. As if it liked being where it was even though everything else was hurting it. It was a happy content something only if the sore part went away.

Looking from her daughter to the walls of her child's room, Angie tried to shake the thoughts free from her head. There was no way another mind could be invading her own, the professor had taught her how to protect herself from things like that back when she was just a student in the school.

Still that seemed to be the only reasonable explanation for what was happening to her. The thoughts weren't her own- That much was obvious to her- but then Angelina didn't know to whom they belonged.

Some little part of her mind- A part she was sure was her own- was telling her that the answer was not some poor mutant soul in trouble in some far flung place. Some poor individual she couldn't help because she couldn't get to them. No, this answer was close to home. Maybe even lying in her arms at that very moment.

"Well, that doesn't make any sense," Angie mused aloud, comforted by the sound of her own voice and figuring her daughter might be too, "you can't be psychic. Not yet anyway. Mutants get their powers at puberty and you, my very small munchkin, are not even close to being a teenager. I mean, I've heard of precocious puberty but that's crazy. You can't have powers."

Looking up, Angie realized that she had walked her way into her own bedroom. Of course, she didn't know if that was because she was tired or because of some internal prompting from the strange mind inside her own.

"Here's an idea," she broached, "maybe you just don't want to sleep in your own bed. Is that why you're waking up every night? You don't like that pretty bed Charles bought you? I think you should but that's just me. I'd rather sleep in that pretty room rather than in here when daddy's not home. Though, at this rate, he'll be coming home and you and I will still be wide awake. Aren't you tired yet?"

Hope made a few baby sounds akin to gurgles and burbles. Angie was quite anxious for her daughter's ability to talk to come around. That would make things a whole lot easier for her and Matthew. At least then Hope could tell them what was wrong instead of this whole guessing game they were playing now.

"I'll take that to mean you're tired," Angie responded, seeing as how that was what she wanted the answer to bed, "and that you'd rather sleep in here with me. Not that I mind because this bed is just too blasted big with just me in it. I miss your daddy when he has to work late but he's doing that so you can have the best of everything when you get bigger."

Angie sat herself on the bed, half leaning against the headboard. She settled her daughter in a one handed hold and, with the other, started to arrange the pillows on the bed. When she was done- after a few tired mistakes- Angie had managed to create a bumpered area for her daughter to sleep in.

She settled Hope on her back between two of the pillows and laid herself down on her side next to one of them. For a very long time Hope lay awake, eating her small fists and kicking her New York Mets pajama covered legs. Angie was starting to think the entire thing was hopeless and that Hope was never, ever going to fall asleep.

She sighed and prepared to pick the baby up when she noticed it. Noticed that Hope had, indeed, fallen asleep.

"Oh thank you," Angie breathed, noticing that the strange feeling in her mind, the otherworldly sense of another mind, had abated as well.

She lay on her side, one hand on her daughter's small arm, and slipped into sleep. A sleep were all thoughts of psychic babies were forgotten.

It was how Matt found the two of them when he walked in ten minutes later, smelling of vanilla and powdered sugar. He couldn't help but smile at the sight. Smile and curl on the end of the bed, lest he wake up his obviously tired wife and his sleeping daughter.


	12. Sorprese

AN: Hi all! I hope summer's going well for all of you. I just came back from Boston and Salem for the weekend. It was pretty cool to see all the stuff about the witches in Salem. I even got the chance to walk a few graveyards at night. Alas, though, I didn't get to see any ghosts though one of the tour guides managed to scare my sister so badly she turned as white as a ghost. That probably has to count for something, right? Anywho thanks for all your reviews and for putting up with the sparse updates. I'm really glad some of you are sticking around for the ride no matter how slow it seems to be going for me recently.

My PenName is . . .: I'm glad you like little baby Hope. She's a strange looking baby, no doubt about it, but she could be cute. She does act cute sometimes, though. Here's the next chapter and I hope you like it just as much as you like the one before it!

E.L. Lockhart: Order taken! Here's the next chapter! I'm happy the update made you happy and I hope this one makes you just as happy as the one before it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in graduate's school. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

Living in a school meant that babysitters were never in short supply. If Angelina and Matthew ever needed someone to watch Hope, there were always one or two or ten people willing to take the job.

Students wanted it, especially those whom Angie taught, because they felt they were going to get some extra credit out of it. Get into their teacher's good graces and all of that. Though the couple did make use of the very willing and very abundant student babysitters, there was only a handful that they totally trusted and that was when Hope was healthy. If she was sick- as she always seemed to be- neither Angie nor Matt wanted to leave her with ill prepared students.

Staff members and other adult mutants helped because they were older and they were friends. Still there was part of her that was afraid to leave hope with then when she was sick. Even though there were a handful of staff members who were probably better qualified than she to take care of her own daughter.

At the moment, though, neither was a viable option.

Matthew was working, pulling yet another long shift at his place of work. Actually, it was his normal, during the day shift but, to a very stressed Angie who hadn't a lot of sleep the night before, it seemed like a late shift.

Almost all of the students in the school were in class. Some who weren't in class were in the medical bay as a result of a particularly brutal game of basketball. Someone had said "no powers" and that little comment wasn't heeded by the players. A kid had used his powers and managed to get five or six of his fellows had been attacked by a particularly aggressive length of poison ivy. Whatever the girl's powers really were, it forced the plant around her fellow students and accelerated the plant's topical toxin. They were all covered in blotches and itchy hives.

Other students were in the neighboring town, doing some shopping under the careful eye of Rose and Nick. Though going out with Nicholas was a bit of a problem because of his fame as a pitcher.

With Rose and Nick out of the picture and on chaperone duty and the rest of the staff teaching, Angie was without a babysitter.

She had really no other choice but to pack a bottle, some diapers, and other baby things in her pack of school books and the put her daughter in her baby seat. Though she was under a year old by several months, Hope was on her way to her first day of school.

While Angie struggled with trying to get her class to pay attention and her daughter to settle as she tried to start her class, Charles Xavier entered the room containing Cerebro. It was par for the course for the bald, wheelchair bound headmaster to enter the metal room and use the machine it contained.

Just to see if there were any other mutants in a spot of trouble. Teenagers coming into their powers who could benefit from being brought to his institute. A single life he could save that day and another mutant who could learn to accept not fear, what he or she was.

He lifted the helmet like apparatus and placed it on his bald head. The door behind him slid closed with a whoosh of air, sealing him in not only the room but in his own little universe. A universe where his mind was the most powerful item in existence and one that could either help or harm.

The machine started, startling the headmaster nearly to the point where he fell out of his chair. There was a new mutant emerging as he sat overlooking all of the mutants in the world. What's more, the mutant was coming into her- as it was a she he was tracking- own appeared to be in the backyard of his school. The preverbal backyard anyway as she was coming into her own powers in Salem Center, New York.

He tried to see through the mutants eyes to know where she was and to locate her if she were ever in need of help. It was a bit of a nasty shock when he discovered that the eyes of the mutant were trained upon the walls of one of the rooms in his school. She was looking out at a classroom of children from an odd vantage point, almost as if she was in a seat of some kind.

That seemed so unlikely, though, as everyone in the school was a mutant. Their powers had activated already. They were not an emerging individual.

As Xavier uncoupled himself from the machine, a thought came to him. A thought that sent a nasty shock of fear down his ruined spine and set ice in his stomach. There was one individual that wasn't a mutant. One that shouldn't have been coming into her powers but seemed to be anyway.

"It couldn't be," he breathed, daring not to believe what he knew was true and unequivocal.

He had to get to that classroom and he had to get there as fast as he could. There was something going on and he needed to be sure if it was true. If it was….well…then he wasn't sure what he was going to do next.

Meanwhile, Angie was regretting even bringing her daughter to class with her. Babies were the ultimate distraction, especially for the young girls. No one wanted to hear a word of the day's lesson. Rather they wanted to play with the baby and ask questions about her.

Though she was teaching human reproduction- Something Angie truly hated because it reduced most of the class into blushing, giggles messes. - and a baby was the ultimate study tool in such a lesson, Angie was not willing to have the whole lessons dedicated to talking about her daughter. Bragging was something she really wasn't keen on doing no matter how much she wanted to. Her Grandmother Galante had always told her that it was bad luck to praise a baby's actions all that much. It could bring ill luck on the baby and, given Hope's auspicious start, she wasn't going to chance it.

"Come on, guys, can we please listen up here?" she pleaded with her class, "I promise that if we have time at the end of today's lesson we can talk about Hope."

"But you're not going to give us time, Mrs. D," complained one of her students.

Another- the girl sitting next to him- added, "You're just going to keep talking and talking until the bell calls for classes to change. You never let us have any fun."

"Calvin, Susan, you do realize we live in this school. I live here and eat here with you guys all the time. If you want to talk about my daughter you can find me anytime on the grounds. I'll be more than happy to talk to you then," Angie responded, trying to get her students to understand.

"But Mrs. D," whined another student, "can't we just skip today's lesson."

"I'm with Sylvie. Let's just have fun. We can do this another time," added a young boy from the far right side of the room.

"Right guys, if you let us have a break today we'll be very, very quiet tomorrow and allow you to teach us double the stuff we would have to learn," another young boy- from the left side of the room- called to the class.

A chorus of agreement rose up from the students in the room. All of them agreed with the boy and his plan. Of course, they all also knew that it was highly unlikely that they were going to do what they had promised. It was hard enough to get through a single lesson. Imagine the problems getting though a double one.

"Alright….alright, settle down," she called, trying to get the class to quiet down lest Hope awaken upset by the loud noises in the room, "Sylvie, we're not skipping today's lesson and that's that. Del, Cole, we're going to do this now and you all know that you're not going to even want to have a double lesson tomorrow."

With grumble and mumbles of annoyance, the class started to settle. Maybe there was hope that they could scam some free time at the very end of class.

As she turned to face the blackboard, something very strange happened. An image of a baby bottle came flashing into her mind. Not just any baby bottle but the one Angie was carrying in her bag.

There were only two people who knew what that bottled looked like; her and Hope. She had showed the little girl the bottle as she put it into her bag. That was the only way Angie knew that it wasn't one of her students showing her the image to distract her.

With a blink of an eye, it all clicked. The strange presence in her mind. The fact that strange invader found comfort in her own mind and the fact that presence was so strong now.

The image was coming from Hope. She was the cause of the strange presence in her mind.


	13. Le Informazioni Di Scienza

An: This chapter may get a bit on the technical but I'll try my best to limit it. Either that or I'll make sure things get explained eventually. I'm hoping not to scare anyone off with my little adventures in science. I apologize for any problems it may cause and I don't want to make it seem I'm playing up to being smarter or anything else. I just get a bit involved in the science of things. Feel free to ask for explanations or tell me that I'm being too science related. Flame me for it, if you want. I welcome anyone and everyone's opinion on my little adventure here and I'm usually good on responding to them. Give me all the criticism you want….I'm more than interesting in reading opinions!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in graduate's school. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

Angie had to give herself some small measure of credit. She held herself together and finished class despite the fact she was severely unnerved by the fact her daughter was projecting images into her mind. The little girl seemed totally unaware of what she was doing, still staring around the classroom with her unusual eyes and sucking on her hands.

There was no evil background to what Hope was doing. No intention to hurt of harm her mother, as far as Angie could sense. She was just expressing a need. She was hungry and associated a bottle with food. She wasn't trying to trick her mother into do something. Actually the images were preferable to the other way Hope expressed herself when she was hungry.

That being crying, just like any normal baby.

As soon as the children left to room, storming out into the hallway for lunch or class or whatever they had planned at the moment, Angie set about throwing her things in her bag. It was usually something she was frightfully neat about doing but, just this once, speed was needed over neatness.

Said bag was thrown over her shoulder and one of her hands was on the handle of Hope's carrier seat. Angie had every intention of using her other hand to open the door and get herself to either Xavier or one of the school's medics. Someone had to know something about what was happening to her daughter.

If they didn't know- which was just as likely- Angelina figured they could do something to figure it out. After all, Xavier's School was home to two of the greatest mutant minds in the world. That brain trust right there had to be able to help her, somehow.

No sooner had her hand touched the door's knob, the wooden portal swung open. There in the doorway, looking worse for where, was Charles Xavier. His expression was anxious, more anxious than Angelina ever had the occasion to see. She wanted to say he looked scared as well but that was something she didn't want to admit to seeing. Fear was not something she wanted to see blooming on the face of her long time headmaster and friend. She didn't want to believe that something as silly and as small as her daughter could scare the great psychic.

"You felt it too?" he, simply, asked, eyes coming to rest on the burbling baby in her carrier.

"I did, sir, and it's scaring me. I mean, she can't be expressing her powers. Hope's just too young for that," Angie babbled, glad she had someone to blurt out what she had been sensing to.

"I know but Cerebro doesn't lie and I've sensed it as well," Charles sighed, "I'm sure there's something we can do to help her. I just don't know what that something is yet."

To hear Xavier admit that he didn't know something was quite unnerving to Angelina. She always figured that Xavier had the answers to everything and anything.

Sharing several fast words, the pair headed for one the building's many underground labs. Since Hope was the only child with two mutant parents that they were aware of, there was very little in the way of scientific literature to say what was going on.

All the pair could do was head for the lab and resort to the poking and prodding tests that seemed to pervade Hope's short life.

For several long hours, Hank McCoy poked and prodded the unwilling infant. She screamed and cried her way through a long battery of tests. Like any baby, Hope wasn't exactly fond of doctors. Even ones who had as good an intention as Beast.

Putting off all other matters at the moment, since none seemed really all that pressing when compared to a very young child showing active mutant genes, results were a priority. There had to be an answer and one had to be found soon as no one wanted Hope's little power to harm her or, possibly more importantly, the other students in the school.

On a hunch, and since it seemed rather important, Beast also took a blood sample for DNA testing. Not that Hope's DNA wasn't on file already but it couldn't hurt to take another to scan. As unlikely as it seemed, something in her chromosomes could have changed. Such things were unheard off but when a child with two mutant parents was in question, anything seemed possible.

To Angelina, the wait was endless. She wasn't allowed to help in the lab, leaving the science trained mutant to sit outside and wait. To worry while things went along as organized as science related things sometimes did.

It seemed like an age later before Beast and Charles sat with the young mother and her sleeping daughter. She had been trying to mark papers but all Angie had managed to do was mess up grades. She was going to have to apologize to, at least, four students for making a mess of their papers.

"Now, you know that the onset of mutant abilities are linked with puberty and stressful situations. Now, Hope is far from puberty but she's already experienced a highly stressful situation. One that could act as a catalyst for mutant powers if it was strong enough," Beast started, earning him a strange look from Angelina.

"What sort of situation are we talking about, Hank?" Angelina asked, "Hope's a baby…that's sort of the no stress stage of life."

"Hope was born in distress when she was born. Now, most would classify birth as a stressor in the eustress category. That is, a type of good stress. It could be thusly categorized because the stress aids the baby in breathing. Easier breathing causes an easier change over to lung breathing allowing for an easier transition to life outside the womb," Beast explained.

Letting his words hang in the air for a moment, he continued, "Though this is a strong stressor, it is not enough to activate a mutant's 'X' gene. Hope is not an example of a typical birth, though. She was born in extreme distress due to her prematurely and bacteremia. Still, this would not be enough to activate the mutant gene we know Hope as inherited from at least one of her parents."

"So than why bring it up?" Angie snapped, though she didn't mean to do so, "If it's got nothing to do with Hope- Background information or not- I really don't want to hear it. There's already been enough medical mumbo jumbo in her short life."

Shaking his blue furred head, Beast pulled out a clean white piece of paper and a blue pen. On the paper he drew a rather large square and, within the body of the square, he drew two lines. These lines split the square into four equally sized boxes.

"Punnett Square, basic tool in genetics," Hank explained, telling Angie something he was sure she already knew, "You probably use these with the kids when doing Mendel's genetics."

Angie nodded her head, recognizing the figure. It was one of those classical genetics tools she always taught the kids, though many of them seemed not to catch on to using them as fast as she liked.

She watched with rapt attention, though, as Hank wrote on the top of the square a capital and a lower case letter "n." These same two letters- one over or next to each square- were written on the left hand side of the box. One could have written them on the right and bottom sides but it was more acceptable to only use the left and topmost side.

"Capital 'N' stands for the nonmutator gene or the 'normal' gene; the lower case 'n' stands for the mutator gene. Both you and Matthew are heterozygous. That is, you have one normal- capital 'N'- and one mutated gene- lower case 'n.' In a monohybrid cross, the chances are one in four that you have a homozygous child with no mutated genes. A pure 'normal' child who will never express any mutations. The chances of offspring like you and Matt- heterozygous- are two in four. This was the case I was hoping to see in your daughter. Like you and your husband, she would have a strong likelihood of showing mutant powers," he explained filling in the proper boxes on the Punnett Square.

He paused with only one box remaining. The bottommost right hand square-within-the-square. Angie knew what went in that single box but she was afraid to hear the truth, afraid to know what that box was going to reveal about her daughter.

"All of this," Beast finished, filling in the lone box with two lower case letters, "leaves us with the final one in four. This child would have two mutant genes. She would be homozygous mutant. A pure mutant child. Hope is that one in four possibility. She is a pure mutant child which may be the reason she is expressing her powers at such an early age."


	14. Scoperte Allineare

AN: Hey this has to be a first! I'm updating a story on time! All things considered, this is probably a good thing. My computer's been acting up all week so I wasn't even sure I'd be allowed to get on-line this week. Maybe having my computer all weird for a few days got this update up faster. I doubt my dad would be happy with that assumption, though. He's the one who had to call someone to get it fixed, though I figure he was the one who broke it in the first place. Anyway, thanks for the reviews and for putting up with the science in the previous chapter. I'm trying to cut down on the amount of science related stuff in the story or at least, the really super technical stuff. Again, thanks for the reviews, keep them coming!

My PenName is . . .: Oh yeah! My Advanced Placement European History teacher in high school brought in puppies to class for two days straight. Needless to say, very little European History got done in those two days. My entire class was too busy playing with, and watching the puppies she brought in. All except one kid…he kept trying to kick the puppies for sleeping on his backpack. He didn't though since he feared the teacher and her grading. Anywho, here's the next chapter! Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in graduate's school. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

"Of you don't believe me," Beast commented, his voice sounding slightly hurt.

He pushed a plain manila envelope towards Angelina and pulled his hands away as soon as she laid hands on the envelope. Angie looked at the folder's contents, lab results in plain black and white. Irrefutable evidence that her daughter was what Hank said she was. Scientific fact that Angie could not argue with.

She couldn't help herself, though, the words just sort of came sliding out of her mouth. There wasn't much else she could do since the scientific part of her brain had turned itself off and the part that was just mother to Hope was speaking to her loudly. It was claiming that what she was reading was not only false but madness as well.

"You have to be kidding me, Beast," she blurted, shaking her head in abject disbelief, "I thought that rare chance wouldn't survive past birth, if survived that long. There are results that say even normal children with birth defects who don't survive for that long because their DNA is so badly mangled."

There was some pride in her voice, though. Some small slip of gladness that her daughter had beaten what she thought were unbeatable odds. She was not only a one in four, improbable chance, but she had survived the mangling of her own DNA.

"You're looking at the lab results," Beast reminded her, "everything's right there, my friend. This may just be a testament to the strength of the X-Gene. It wants the individual who carries it to survive no matter what the odds."

"Still, Hank, Charles, where do we go from here?" Angie asked, sounding exasperated.

This wasn't something she had expected in any way, shape, or form. Angie figured that no mother did. No mother expected their little one to start showing strange powers at a very young age. In a school full of mutants, though, there had to be some sort of understanding of this little situation.

"Despite what we've gathered, I cannot be sure that this is the only power Hope will manifest. Despite what I'm sure you believe, this is a highly unexpected scenario. It is something none of us could have foreseen," Xavier informed the worried mother.

Angie sighed heavily, placing her head in her hands. That was not the answer she wanted to hear. Some small part of her was hoping that Charles and Hank- two of the most brilliant scientific minds she knew- might have an answer or two for her.

After all, dealing with psychic minds was something one had to be careful with. Minds that couldn't shield themselves were open to attack on all fronts. Without shielding, too, a mind could be warped or permanently destroyed.

"It's strange, though," Angelina commented, trying to keep herself calm, "Well, not as strange as what I've learned today but you get the idea. You'd think Hope would be more upset than anything else since she has these powers that open her to every mind and seem to lay most minds open to hers. She's handling these psychic abilities quite well."

Angelina knew it was a stretch but she was trying to glean as much good from the situation as she possibly could. There had to be a few silver linings in the clouds that still seemed to be lingering around her and her daughter that day.

"Charles and I have surmised that she may have had these powers, at a very low level at least, since birth," Beast informed Angelina.

For a moment, Angelina replayed Hank's words in her mind.

A sense of knowing flooded through her. A sense of understanding followed with it as well. It was as if everything that had happened in the past few month's since Hope's birth. Like a piece to a giant puzzle, Angelina filled that small bit of information in and the picture was complete.

It all clicked for her.

It all made sense.

"When I use to sit with Hope- Back when she was on the vent- I use to get a weird tickling sensation in my head. It was like something was trying to connect but it wasn't sure how. Even now, it's happening but the connection's getting stronger like it was able to understand things better or something. You can ask Matt about it since he says it happens to him too. You don't think it could have been Hope, do you?" Angelina babbled.

Hank and Charles signaled that they needed a moment before addressing Angelina's questions. For a long moment, the room was still save for the conversation the two men were having. She tried to busy herself with Hope but the little girl was sleeping soundly.

The little girl seemed to sleep at the most inconvenient times. She would nap during the day but not sleep at night. Though, that was basically atypical for all Williams Syndrome Babies so Angie didn't think she had to worry all that much.

"Perhaps," Xavier answered, turning to face Angie once again, "mind you this is just conjecture on my part; Hope was trying to connect to you because she 'knew' you best of all. If that is, truly, the case than she used this connection to 'discover' the correct way to breathe."

"Or at the very least," Hank added, "how to fight the machine she was attached to."

"So, at the end of all of this," Angelina commented with a laugh, "we have no answers and more questions than we ever figured possible."

"That is where you're wrong," Hank commented, with a grin that bared his canine like fangs, "we have answers to our questions."

"Where?" Angelina challenged.

"Lying asleep next to you. We have every answer to every question. We just have to figure out how to ask them in the right way," Beast answered.

Angelina had to admit Beast was probably correct. Hope could answer all the questions the questions they had but they first had to figure out how to ask them first. It was going to be a lot of observing and careful watching in everyone's future as they tried to discover what was normal with a pure mutant child.


	15. Sviluppi

AN: Hi all! Summer's rapidly winding down and fall looms ahead. Of course, falls means school for most of us, myself included. I'm headed off to Graduate's School in the fall. Don't worry, though! I'm taking later classes and I have Fridays off! I'm hoping that'll mean more on-time updates and things like that. Actually, I don't mind fall so much since it also means my dance classes start and I get to go back to play Girl Scout Leader (or Zoo Keeper, as I sometimes call myself since I have little kiddies). Anywho, please continue to read and review my most excellent readers. I really appreciate any comments you have on this story whether they are good, bad, or indifferent.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in graduate's school. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

"I know I'm not all scientifically knowledgeable but I think something's going on with the baby," commented Matt as he sat on the floor with his daughter.

He was covered in a fine layer of powdered sugar and smelled vaguely like a horrible combination of garlic and vanilla. It was from his work, of course, since he spent his days surrounded by and working on Italian food. Matthew, despite his powers have nothing to do with his career of choice, was an up and coming chef with a specialization in all things Italian.

Truth be told, he was madly in love with making pastries but man cannot live on pastries alone. At least, that was what his father use to tell him in his heavily accented English. He was the cook of the family as far as Matthew remembered. Though, back in his homeland- code for Italy since both his parents were immigrants into the counter- it was the woman's place to cook, his father had picked up skills. After all, according to said father, a man had to eat when his mother wasn't around to cook for him.

Tradition, though important, wasn't something his father was big on. As a matter of reference, it was his father's dream he was trying to live out despite the fact he was a mutant with wings that burst from his back under stress. His father had always wanted to open his own Italian restaurant but never quite got around to doing it. The dream sort of got squashed under a mountain of other things, including paying for his son's schooling since Catholic school was the only place for his son.

Now, as a first generation American, Matt was trying to open his own place. Of course, he had to learn the ropes first. His father's recipes only went so far since they were only half given. He had left out a few "secret" things that made the meals perfect. Without them, the food was sort of flat and bland. Rather ordinary, actually and that was not what Matt wanted. He wanted his cooking to stick out so he worked in kitchens in order to learn how to do just that.

His hours were strange and his time home with his wife and daughter was sometimes sadly limited by his career choice. When home, though, he made sure to take time to be with his family as his father had done before him.

Make his "babbo" proud even if being mutant was not a source of pride for him.

At the moment, he was sitting on the floor with Hope, playing with a mess of toys on the floor. It was still very strange to him that Hope could communicate ideas to him through her own bidding psyching powers but there was an undercurrent of pride under that strangeness. A father, he figured, had to be proud of that no matter how strange it sounded on paper.

"What's going on with her, Matt?" Angelina quipped, looking up from her pile of test papers she had been trying to mark, "you two were fine last I checked. Having a good game of peek-a-boo with her toys."

Angie tried to smile at Matt to show him that she didn't mean to be so harsh. It wasn't that she was angry with him. More like, she was just annoyed in general by what she was doing. It was a test she had given a few days prior to a general biology class on a topic they had assured her they had a strong handle on. Of course, the test results didn't show that- despite the fact her tests weren't as notoriously tricky as those given by Dr. McCoy. - and she believed she had caught at least one set of cheaters. Dumb luck didn't extend to getting the exact same questions wrong and writing the same exact short answer essays.

She wasn't going to curve the test as she did the one for her general chemistry class but she couldn't let the grades stand as they were either. There were several averages that would suffer because of that and she didn't want to be responsible for pulling kid's grades down. Leave that to the other teachers.

Angie just wasn't fond of being stuck between the preverbal rock and the hard place when it came to grades. Maybe that was why most students wanted into her class. Her reputation as a "softy" preceded her by about ten miles.

"I know Hank and Jean and Charles said she was supposed to be like behind because she came early but I don't think she is, Angie," Matt explained, scooping Hope up and sitting her in his lap, "She's like ahead of that schedule thing you smart people set up."

Shaking his head and tickling Hope's stomach, he added, "I don't know…I could just be like imagining things. You guys are the brains here. I'm just Hope's daddy who wants everything to be alright."

Angie sighed again, setting aside her purple pen- She was one of those teachers who never marked in red pen. Something about the color upset her, probably from her own school days. - and rubbing the sides of her head with her fingers. She felt a headache coming on, related to her papers and not to her husband or daughter. They were a pleasant distraction from her students.

"We all want everything to be alright, Matt. I know she's supposed to have delays but we don't know anymore. It could be related to her psychic powers. It could be related to some new twist in her DNA, pardon the pun. We're just not sure anymore," Angie answered with another sigh.

It was expected that, as with most premature infants, Hope would develop slower than others her age. Thrown in the Williams Syndrome and the delays would, seemingly, grow. She'd be even further behind children in her age bracket. Maybe she'd catch up and maybe she wouldn't. There was no way to tell now.

Of course, that was what was supposed to happen. That was the atypical case that any parent was told to follow.

What was happening was a whole other story entirely.

With her psychic powers as active as ever, Hope had picked up on speech. Not that babbling baby talk sort of things kids her age were supposed to be doing but normal, adult speech. It was a skill rarely used since she seemed to prefer her psychic "voice" rather than her physical one.

She also seemed to be experimenting with the idea of walking. That was strange in and of itself because babies with her…condition….were supposed to suffer from joint problems. Hope wasn't showing any of those problems either. Nor was she showing any of the marked cardiac or renal problems.

Sensitivity to sound was definitely a problem and one that was going to have to be solved in a unique fashion because of their surroundings. Kids were noisy and could be loud. Hope was going to have to learn to adapt to that or they were going to have to learn how to adapt to Hope. There was no in between here.

"So, you're just going to sit back and see what happens?" Matt asked, curiously as he put Hope down and watched as she tried to get to her mother on the couch.

Angie scooped the baby up- earning herself a giggle and a blink of her daughter's strange looking eyes. - and answered, "We're venturing into the unknown here, Matt. We have no choice but to sit back and watch. Besides, if it helps Hope take one more giant step towards whatever will be normal for her, I'm all for it."

"No worries then?" her husband questioned.

"No worries….well, yes worries but not about Hope showing signs of catching up or getting ahead of her age group. Count that as a good thing. In the same line, count her not acting like an atypical Williams's baby a good thing too," Angie said, her own voice sounding as confused as she felt.

She gave a shrug and added, "I figure it's enough she's here and she's reasonably healthy. Whatever else happens, happens and we'll meet it head on when it does."


	16. Due Anni

AN: Alas, alas summer is almost over. The fall is around the preverbal corner and with it comes everything else. For me, that means school, dance classes, and Girl Scouts. Of course, school also means more of an opportunity to write because I have a really bad tendency to work on stories before classes. Well, not really bad I guess since it gives me something to do that isn't reading science fiction before classes start. I don't know! Anywho, I promise to keep updating on a regular basis since I have days of and stuff in my schedule this semester. I thank all of you reviewers for putting up with my slow updates and, of course, your reviews! All of you rock like boxes of socks!

My PenName is . . .: Thanks very much! Here's my update! Hope it's soon enough for you!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in graduate's school. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

Days turned to week….weeks turned to months…..months turned to years. Time passed as it always did in the world and humans and mutants, alike, were affected by its ravages.

Before anyone knew anything Hope had reached her second birthday.

To anyone on the outside looking in on the young child's life, she was a frail looking child with a very short stature. Some might call her sickly and others might wonder just what her parents were- or were not- doing to her.

Those in the know, though, knew it was all indicative of her genetic disorder. She, like the few other children who had William's Syndrome, had suffered from something called "failure to thrive." That had caused the height issues as well as the fact she was rather frail looking.

Calling Hope sickly wasn't exactly accurate but it wasn't really false either. She had a strange propensity for chest infections but no one was sure why. It was speculated that it had to do with a glitch in her immune system, unrelated to the William's Syndrome, or, if it really had to do with her genetic disorder, it was a switch from the kidney and cardiac problems children like her were supposed to have.

Still, most of Hope was indicative of her status as a William's baby. Her hearing was rather sensitive to the point where loud music made her very upset and her personality was friendly to the point of being dangerous. She had to be kept under close watch in crowds because she had no qualms talking to strangers no matter how many times she was told not to.

Her facial features, too, marked her as different. The starburst patterns on her dark hazel eyes were still very apparent and her ears were still slightly elven-looking. The ears weren't really noticeable because of her mousy brown hair that hung to just the top of her neck. Her nose was still upturned; lips were still full and upper lip still long.

All things considered, though, looks didn't matter. Hope was at home among mutants and her differences didn't matter. She was just another kid among them.

Just a little smaller than the rest…

At the moment, though, Hope's unusual dark hazel eyes were scanning one of Dr. Hank McCoy's Organic Chemistry classes. The blue furred mutant- wearing a dress shirt, patterned tie, and dress pants underneath is lab coat- was prowling through the lab benches helping his students where need be.

Hope hand wandered into the class at the very beginning of the lesson- a small shadow in pink coveralls and a powder blue t-shirt that were still a bit large on her even though they were meant for a child younger than her two years- and Hank had allowed her to stay. Well, stay so long as she didn't get into any trouble. The little girl was content to pay a visit and be allowed to sit with the "big kids."

Hoping off the top of the desk where she had been seated, Hope wandered over to a lab bench and scrambled up onto the nearest stool. No one questioned what she was doing since it was par for the course. Hope's personality quirks made her just a little friendlier than normal. Plus, no one wanted to fault the little girl for being curious and wanting to see what was going on in the busy lab.

"What's going on, Hope?" the student to her right- a Hispanic female named Eve- asked the little girl.

Eve was a newer student, unfamiliar with Hope. All she knew was the little girl's name from Dr. McCoy introducing her to the class when she wandered in. Then again, many things were unfamiliar to the girl since she was so new to life as a mutant. That included her own ability to fly and breathe fire, hence her nickname of "Dragon."

Shuddering a little as she tried not to cough on the experiment in the works, Hope answered, "You're doing it wrong. You can't put the glass thing on the hot thing. Closed up like that, it'll 'splode and you'll get hurt."

She sat back on the stool, making sure not to touch anything the girl had done. She remembered that she was allowed to talk to the students and see what they were doing in the labs but she couldn't touch what they were working on. Those were the rules, she knew, so she didn't get hurt.

"How do you know?" Eve questioned, "You're just a little kid."

As the girl continued with her faulty set up, Hope gave a small shrug that was hidden in her clothing. She wasn't quite sure how she knew. She just knew.

At the ripe old age of two- and going against the William's Syndrome that afforded Hope her strange looks- Hope had started to display signs of strangely advanced intelligence. Where those with her genetic disorder were supposed to be delayed in many ways, Hope had started to read and write just after her first birthday.

Science was her favorite subject, which was the reason the little girl could be found haunting the labs the school housed. There were several books in her room about the subject. Aside from that, she had shown proficiency in nearly every subject area. On Matthew's insistence, she had started studying Italian- on the grounds that it was her native language and she had every right to learn it.

The only thing that fit with the pattern of her genetic disorder was the fact she had taken to music in a big way. She had started studying the piano- since it was the only instrument she was big enough to play- and had displayed one of the signature trademarks of a William's baby. That being, perfect pitch when she sang.

It was assumed that Hope's advanced intelligence was another facet of her mutant powers. A play- per see- on her mother's powers in the natural sciences and math. Still, it was hard to figure out just why her intelligence was the way it was. It went against her overruling diagnosis of William's Syndrome.

Since there was no way to, actually, tell, the best Hank and Charles could guess was that Angelina's mutated intelligence genes had, somehow, filled in the gaps Hope's genes had. Her mother's own DNA had aided in augmenting her daughter's intelligence.

That was all conjecture, though, but it was the best answer anyone had.

With another shrug, Hope jumped off the stool she had been sitting on and sped over to her blue furred Godfather. He was several benches back, correcting another student's distilling apparatus. The boy hadn't tightened one of the tubes enough and, if he had turned the water on, the pressure would have caused the entire structure to collapse into a glassy heap.

Not an uncommon accident in the lab, actually.

Hope tugged at one of Beast's pocket's trying to get his attention. She knew she wasn't supposed to be bothering him unless it was an emergency. The little mutant, in her little kid wisdom, decided that Eve's impending accident was emergency enough.

Excusing himself, Beast angrily turned around. The students in the class were supposed to wait until he was done before interrupting him with their own problems. He wasn't supposed to be bothered while working with the other students in the class. It was the only way, he figured, for each of them to get the individual attention they needed in the class.

The expression softened when he say who had been doing the tugging. Hope, certainly, wasn't a member of his class. Not yet anyway,

"What's wrong, Hope?" he asked.

Before she could answer, there was a loud pop and several screams. Eve's round bottomed flask had exploded, showering those around her with glass and whatever reaction mixture she was boiling off.

"I tried to tell her but she wasn't listening to me. I said she was doing things wrongs but she said I was a kid and I didn't know," Hope babbled, as she ran after an angry Beast.

"I'm sure you did, Hope. Can you do me a big, big favor?" he asked, pausing and allowing the short legged child to catch up to him.

Hope nodded and started to cough as a rancid smell filled the room.

"Go get Jean for me, please. I think we're going to need some medical help here," Beast requested of the little girl.

The little girl nodded again and, before she left, commented, "It smells bad in here. I think everyone should go away."

With that, the little girl darted out of the room to go get the medic. Behind her, Beast started to send the class out of the room, taking the little mutant's advice.


	17. Scuola Materna

AN: Sorry for the delay but I was having computer issues….again. My dad had to take the tower into the shop for a bit because we were having problems with the machine freezing up on us and getting all sorts of nasty pop up ads and things like that. Strange thing is that this is like the second or third time this has happened to the computer. Maybe we need to get someone else in to fix the computer! Anywho, I'm going to try to get myself back on track here and update all of my on going misadventures. Please, keep reading and reviewing! A review or two always surprises me and makes me feel better!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in graduate's school. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

_**Meanwhile In Xavier's Office…**_

"I've been thinking…actually, we've been thinking of sending Hope to a regular nursery school," Angelina broached, as she averted her gaze to stare at her hands in her lap.

She and Matthew were sitting the Charles' office, across the desk from the wheelchair bound headmaster. They had been "discussing" the topic of sending Hope to a school away from the Xavier School for a few days. It seemed like a good idea on paper and in their minds but, as soon as the words left Angie's mouth, she was starting to have second, third, and fourth thoughts.

Part of Hope's genetic disorder was the fact she was overly friendly. Friendly to the point that she was annoying to children her own age- the few she played with if someone took her down to the local playground- but not to the older children in the school. They were patient enough to deal with the babbly and bubbly little girl.

Charles looked at the young couple, sitting side by side at his desk, trying to blot out the sense of worry coming off of both of them. Both were worried of how he was going to react to their inquiry and what would happen to their daughter if she were to go someplace away from the school.

That and there was something underlying their worry but he couldn't quite place it. It was a fleeting feeling that he was having trouble tamping down. At the moment, it didn't seem all that important nor was it related to their request on their daughter's behalf.

"Do you have a reason for wanting this?" he asked, templeing his fingers and propping his head on top of the peak created by his fingers.

The headmaster was unsure about sending an already budding mutant in an unsupervised environment. One where they were not going to understand how to deal with a unique situation even he and his staff were having trouble understanding.

Plus, there was the ever present fear people had of mutants.

"Charles, her Williams' Syndrome notwithstanding, Hope does have a clue about how to act around children her own age. All she knows is this school and its students. She's surrounded by teenagers who put up with her," Angelina answered.

With something of a stronger voice, Matthew added, "She needs to be a kid and see what kids her age do. Besides, there's not really a lot for a two-year-old to do around here. She lurks in people's classrooms and gets in their way sometimes."

Matthew was the only nonscientist directly involved in the care of Hope. He was on the outside, so to speak, looking in on all the science surrounding his young daughter. Though he was just as concerned as everyone else about his daughter's health, he had more of an interest in his daughter's mental well being. He wanted her to a normal kid, despite the fact she was not meant to be normal. He wanted her to do things that every kid her age did, regardless of the fact she was a mutant.

Besides, he had read in one of Angelina's fancy science books- Where he was good at cooking, chemistry and things like that were never part of his repertoire- that is was good for kids to go to nursery school instead of being sequestered at home. Something about exposing them to diseases so their immune systems built up or something strange like that.

"And," he added, knowing he was going to sound like a fool for spouting science where his specialty was cooking and things like that, "there's some strange thing about immune systems, right? I mean, I read it but I'm not as brilliant as the rest of you."

"No….you're right," Angelina commented, "but then there's the problem that Hope's nearly always having respiratory issues. We don't want to make that problem worse. Maybe it's best she stay here because her immune system is still, obviously, getting exposed to all sorts of interesting pathogens and other things."

Getting a very confused look from her husband, Angie added, "The lab accident today….she was exposed to something that's left her with a bad cough and runny eyes."

Charles sighed, watching the young couple talk. He had to agree with Matt's point. A school full of teenagers did not provide many friendship opportunities for a child her age. His point about her immune system, as his wife had pointed out, was valid too. Even if they lived in a school, there was a need to have Hope exposed to the more common of childhood illnesses.

"I am inclined to agree with sending Hope," he, slowly, stated, "so long as she understands that she is in no way allowed to use her psychic abilities within the school setting. To whatever degree that can happen, all things considered."

"She knows that, sir," Matt pointed out, as he and Angie were trying to get Hope to understand the idea of privacy in someone's mind, "and she really does try. It's just that she sometimes can't help it. It's instincts, you know."

"I understand completely," Charles answered as the pair got up to take their leave.

Catching the pair off guard, though, the headmaster asked, "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me? I'm sorry but I'm picking up something strongly from the both of you."

Aside from their worry, the undercurrent he had felt before, had taken on a whole other feeling. It was a happier emotion. In some places, it was moving along with the worry but free floating in other places. He wasn't sure if this had to do with them sending Hope to school but, as they were broadcasting the feeling very loudly, he was picking up on them.

Angie giggled and buried her head in Matthew's arm. Matthew, for his part averted his eyes and refused to meet the professor's pointed gaze.

"We just found out, sir. Hope doesn't even know yet," Matthew murmured, almost blushing himself.

"What did you just find out?" he wanted to know, trying to get the pair to openly admit to what they had found out.

Things were always better out in the open, in this case. Especially since the first time didn't go as smoothly as anyone would have liked.

"I'm having another baby," Angie admitted.

The pair waited for some sort of sharp rebuke from Charles. Some sort of angry comment about bringing another, possibly, completely mutant child into the world. Another strange case like Hope.

"Congratulations, both of you," Xavier stated, shocking Angelina and Matthew.

With a genuine smile he added, "Please, try not to have any issues with this one Angie. As much as I know it wasn't your fault as relates to Hope's early birth, I do not want to repeat that sort of event. Seeing you and Matt like that was painful for me."

Turning red in the face, Angie replied, "I'll try not to sir and thank you. Now we just have to figure out how to tell Hope all this good news."

That was a problem for the pair, indeed. One they knew they had to address sooner rather than later.


	18. Sorella più Anziana

AN: SORRY! I didn't mean to get behind again! I've been trying to update but the site was acting strange for me (probably my computer again) but now everything seems to be working fine for me. It's either that or I need to start picking a better day to update because, between school, dance classes, and a bunch lf lazy fellow Girl Scout leaders who like to lump their work on me, I'm running on very little free time. I'm going to try and free up some more time by giving all my fellow Girl Scout leaders back their work. They should really be doing it instead of me because I'm just the Daisy leader. As always, thanks for the reviews! They rock like a box of socks and keep them coming. I don't care if they're good, bad, or indifferent. I'm always open to everyone's opinions and I like to hear what people are thinking! I'm going to finish this little misadventure so feel free to comment at anytime.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in graduate's school. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

The good thing about having a gifted two year old, in Angelina's mind, was that she already knew where babies came from. One of the students assigned to watch Hope some idle day in the school had left the little girl alone with her science textbook. The student didn't know any better so Angelina didn't blame her when the two of them found Hope thoroughly absorbed in the anatomy sections of her textbook.

The bad thing about having a gifted two year old was that she knew where babies came from, really. Sometimes Hope knew far too much about things and that scared her parents. After all, no one knew what sort of damage such advanced knowledge would have on a little girl who didn't know any better about things.

Thankfully, Angelina had mandated that all textbooks be kept out of Hope's reach and had sat down with the little girl and tried to get her to understand that she couldn't see certain things because she was still little. When she was older, she would be better prepared to understand. That, of course, lead to some pouting but Hope quickly forgot about it when her father came home with a new coloring book and a box of markers.

All and all, Hope could still be very much a little girl.

At the moment, Hope was sitting at the coffee table in her family's quarters, coloring. She seemed to be oblivious to anything else except the picture in front of her- something involving a dog and a field of large flowers- and the box of markers at her elbow. They were the fat sort of markers and it was an almost comical sight to see the little girl try and wrap her tiny hand around it.

The only time the marker left her hand was when she had to cough or sneeze. Even with her genetic disorder dictating certain things about her, Hope was still prone to respiratory infections.

It was in the moment, a moment of silent agreement that Angelina and Matthew decided to spring the news on their daughter. They were hoping one of her favorite pastimes, coloring though one could argue she liked her music and language lessons just as much if not more, would be distraction enough from the news they had for her.

"Hope, munchkin, can we talk for a bit?" Angie asked, mentally berating herself for calling her daughter by such horrible pet name.

It just seemed very wrong to call her daughter a "munchkin" because they were the little people in the _Wizard of Oz_. Hope was undersized but it seemed insulting to call her that, though Angelina wasn't quite sure why.

Hope looked up at her mother with red, runny eyes and gave a rough sounding cough. Her mommy and daddy looked very, very serious and that couldn't be good. Still, in her head, she knew there was something else, something that wasn't so serious. Hope was very sensitive that way, especially with minds she knew. She could pick up on things from most minds but the minds she was closest too were the easiest to read and to understand.

"What's wrong mommy?" she asked, watching as her parents sat down on the floor with her.

That set off a warning bell on Hope's small head. Her parents didn't sit on the floor like she did. They were big people and they sat on the couch or in chairs. Only little people like her sat on the floor or so she figured. Sometimes the big people- the people that went to the school and were not quite as grown up as her mommy, daddy, and their friends- sat on the floor but they did that to be silly.

At least that's how Hope understood things. Advanced intelligence or not, she was still two years old and still had the ability to understand things on such a level.

"Nothing's wrong, _bella_," Matthew said, nudging his daughter's small arm and pulling her into his lap, "We just want to talk to you."

Angelina smiled; finding the fact her husband was such a good father funny. He was a young father, true, but he still doted on his daughter. That and she much preferred his nickname for her to her own. "Bella," Italian for "beautiful," was what he decided to call his daughter and that was ten times better than "munchkin."

Still, with his absolute care for his daughter, Angelina had to wonder how he was going to treat their new child. She figured it would be with the same absolute devotion and care. If not, well, then there were going to be problems.

The little mutant coughed, again. The cough was the result of a cold she just couldn't seem to shake no matter how hard she tried. At least the medicine her mommy and daddy were giving her was making her feel a little better. It didn't hurt so much to cough anymore.

"I'm all ears," Hope giggled, as she snuggled against her father.

"Do you remember how Lisa said she had a little sister back home?" Angie asked, trying to start a story and hoping that her daughter went along the path she wanted her to.

It was difficult, at best, to bait Hope because she could guess motives in stories. Her psychic powers seemed to come into play somehow but no one was really quite sure exactly how.

Hope nodded, remembering hearing the girl talking on the grounds. She seemed very sad because she missed her friends and her family and her old home. She didn't like being different because people didn't like the fact she was what she was. That, of course, didn't make sense to Hope because Hope couldn't see how being a mutant was bad. Everyone she knew was a mutant and they didn't make it seem like it was all that bad a thing.

For whatever powers she had, Hope still had her innocence in tact. That was because she was being subtly protected from the truth by those around her.

"Would you like a little brother or sister, like Lisa has?" Matt, gently, asked the little girl sitting on his lap.

Hope thought for a minute, trying to guess the flow of the conversation. Something was most definitely going on and she had a vague idea of what that something was. She guessed she should just test that theory.

"Mommy's having a baby?" she, boldly, guessed.

Amazed but unfazed because she knew Hope might respond in such a way, Angie replied, "I am….you get to be a big sister."

The couple waited for Hope's reaction with baited breath. She had been the center of their universe for so long that they weren't sure what she was going to do. Hope was going to have to share everything with a little person she wasn't going to be able to touch or see for several months and, once said little person came, things were only going to get more interesting.

"I like that idea but I'm not going to be a very big sister," Hope giggled, referring to her tiny stature.

She understood that she was short but wasn't really sure why sometimes. Still, she was alright with her slight height and often joked about it because other people did.

With a curious expression, she asked, "In June?"

"Yes, in June," Angie confirmed, not all that sure how Hope guessed that fact.

"Hope," Matt added, turning his daughter so she faced him, "there's something else."


	19. Finga I Giochi

AN: Welcome back my friends! Sorry, I was in song mode for a moment. Anywho, sorry for the lateness of this update but I've got a genetics test on the horizon and I've been getting ready to study for it. Thankfully, that's the only test I have coming up so it's only a momentary delay. Not like it's midterms or anything yet (those I'm particularly nervous about but that's just me!). Anyway, here's the latest in my little adventure, fresh from the guts of my computer. Please, keep sending those reviews along! I greatly appreciate each and every one of them!

LJP: I still hate getting tricked into things and I'm 22 years old. Hope's parents are just trying to make things simple for her, no matter how smart she is. She's still just two years old so she can still see things through the frame of mind of a two year old when she chooses. Plus, their concerned about how she's going to deal with the idea of going to a "normal" school, even for the day since she's going to sill live with her parents. Anywho, Hope's reaction coming up soon!

My PenName is . . .: I'm glad you liked the chapter and I'm updating right now!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in graduate's school. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

Hope gave a sniffle and rubbed at her nose. She knew she was supposed to be using a tissue but she didn't have one with her at the moment and her daddy was holding her. She wasn't going to wander off and go get a tissue because she was with both her parents.

It didn't happen all that often that she got to be with both of them. Sometimes her mommy was at work with the big kids and sometimes her daddy was at work doing…whatever he did. Even with her vast intelligence, Hope wasn't really sure. She knew he worked someplace that made food and that he, sometimes, came home smelling like yummy things. Of course, sometime he brought yummy things home from work with him. Things like cookies and, of course, Italian pastries.

"Tomorrow," Matt began, deciding to break the news himself since he was holding his daughter at the moment, "_bella_, you get to start nursery school."

"Nursery school? Hope asked, turning the phrase over in her mind a few times.

She knew what school was since she lived in a school but Hope had never heard of a nursery school before. She knew that a nursery was where someone put a baby but she wasn't really a baby anymore.

True, she was on the short side but she could walk and talk and do lots of other things a baby couldn't do. Hope didn't see the need to go to a school that was named after a place where babies were kept because of that fact.

"Normal nursery school," Angie added in an uncomfortable.

"Normal?" Hope asked, in the same tone.

Angie knew her daughter equated normal with anyone who had mutant powers. She lived in a school that was chock full of students with powers so Hope had formed her definition around that. The little girl was only vaguely aware of the world outside the school because both Matt and Angie kept Hope away from the news and from anything other that the funny pages and sports pages in newspapers. She knew of the world outside the school from the students within the walls of the Xavier institute. The world where she would be considered different and bad.

It was only a vague awareness though, nothing to extreme or dangerous. This vaguer awareness led to a very vague understanding of the outside world. She knew it was there- That a world existed outside the walls of the school- but she only had a limited knowledge of just how horrible people could be to mutants because she had been protected from that knowledge.

Hope's short life had been centered around the fact it was okay to be a mutant. That there was nothing wrong with being able to hear other people's thoughts and be able to project thoughts. There was no evil behind being blue or having bat wings or being able to control the weather. That and a million other different things because Hope figured everyone had different powers.

Now, Angie felt badly about throwing her daughter into a world where she wasn't exactly going to be welcome. Of course, no one was going to know that Hope was a mutant and, unless the little girl's very limited control slipped, no one was going to ever know.

"Wild type in the outside?" Hope asked, seeing as how her question hadn't been answered before, "Like with no powers?"

"Wild type" was a phrase she had seen on one of her mother's science tests. She had asked her mother what it meant, since it was something she didn't know and she was, as most young children were, very, very curious about things. The phrase meant something like the opposite of a mutant genotype or allele. It was the "normal" one that was common in the wider population.

From how Angelina explained it, inside the school, the mutant gene was the "wild type" because everyone was a mutant and had an expressed "X-gene." Outside the school the "wild type" was the "normal" genotype. That was, people without an expressed "X-gene."

Though Matt was no scientist- He was a chef and a baker after all. He knew, what people called, kitchen chemistry and his understanding of biology was, jokingly, limited to yeast. - he nodded and answered, "You can't use these powers while your there, _bella_. It might scare the other kids and the teacher just a little."

Matt tapped the side of his head, an indication he was talking about Hope's psychic powers. While not as strong as the abilities others possessed, Hope's instinctual psychic abilities had strengthened somewhat. She cold broadcast and receive images as well as sense other mutants within a limited rage. It was almost like she was a minor, walking version of Charles' Cerebro unit….just not as powerful nor as sensitive.

The only problem was, like anything based on instinct, Hope was, sometimes, only vaguely aware she was using her abilities. Her control, when it existed, was just as instinctual. It was there but it was more autonomic than anything else. It was totally and utterly involuntary most of the time.

With some training, it could become more voluntary but no one was quite sure about that fact. The brain trust that surrounded Hope when she was examined once every few months- like a pediatrician's check-up but a bit more involved- figured how voluntary it would become would be discerned when Hope was older. At least, they hoped it did.

"Why? I'm not scary," Hope stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe.

"Because, Hope," Angelina told her daughter with a small frown, "they don't understand that being a mutant isn't always a bad thing. Can you pretend you're not a mutant and not tell anyone you live in a school for mutants? It can be a secret just between everyone here."

"But you said secrets were bad," Hope pointed out with a frown.

Angie sighed, knowing the bind she and Matt were in. True, she had told Hope that secrets were very bad and that everyone should be truthful to each other. This time, though, telling the truth would do more harm then good but how to explain that fact to a little girl they didn't want to turn into a compulsive liar was beyond them.

"They are bad, _bella_. How about this? We make it into a game. You like to play pretend so let's make this into a big pretend game. Can you pretend that you don't have powers and be like the other kids and that mommy and I are just normal people? I'm just a cook and mommy's just a teacher," Matt suggested, giving his wife a wink.

Hope did like to play pretend games, often playing house or school or, not surprisingly, doctor. Sometimes she pretended to be a super hero but those games made her mommy very upset so she didn't play them all that often.

Hope knew she could do that. Playing pretend wasn't keeping a secret, after all. It was just a game. She didn't understand, in her two year old mind, that she was still keeping a secret from everyone. It was just done in a different way.

"That's my girl," Matt laughed, handing Hope over to her mother for a hug.

They all seemed to need some comfort at the moment, after all the changes that were taking place in their lives.


	20. Credenza

AN: Apparently, and much to my eternal surprise, I have to week off. I have no idea why and I don't think I want to ask why anyway. It's always a nice to have a day off or two show up at some point especially since the weather's supposed to be nasty here all week and there's nothing that's worse than having to walk to school in the cold and the rain. Well, there's that and the fact I'm none to happy about my Girl Scout assignment this week. Since the Brownie leader's not around, I have to play double duty with both her troop and my troop and her troop is….well, to put it mildly….huge. Anywho, thanks for all the reviews and please keep them coming. I really appreciate any and all input and let me know what needs to be improved in this story. I like to hear everyone's opinions and will do my best to fix things accordingly.

Lindiel Eryn: Actually, Hope knows Niphredil since they were fellow Girl Scouts. That will most definitely come up later since I have this small issue with trying to tie most of my characters together (with the exception of the ones from "On Fairy's Wings"). As for her slipping up, Hope has two things working against her. She may be more intelligent than normal for a two year old but she is still able to think like a two year old and does so easily because that makes understanding things simpler. The other is the fact that she is "genetically predisposed" to being friendly to the point of annoying people because of her genetic disorder. That may make things a bit more interesting for her and her classmates.

LJP: Actually, Hope's trouble may come from the fact that she can be friendly to the point of annoying and, if anything, she may fall into trouble because she speaks Italian.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in graduate's school. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

_From the Private Journal of Angelina "Bio" D'Amichi_

I don't know why but I'm scared. Totally and utterly scared out of my wits and I'm not sure what's scaring me more. The fact that I'm going to be having Hope's little brother or sister in several long months or the fact I'm going to send my baby into the big wide world.

Maybe it's a combination of the two that's freaking me out so badly.

I know you're just a notebook and you can't know what it feels like but I think I understand now why mother's cry when their sons and daughters first start school- not this school per see but school in general. Parents would be crying for totally different reasons if they found out just why their kids were allowed to attend the prestigious Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

It's one of those half and half feelings. Half of me is sad because my baby- I'm sorry but it's impossible for me not to think of Hope as my baby because she's so much smaller than she should be and looks breakable when she's sick.- is growing up and going to be away from me. Someday she's not going to need me because she's all grown up and that's one of those thoughts that makes me horribly sad. My little baby all grown up…

The other part of me is scared because Hope's being thrown into a big wide world that is so not ready for her. This world- The school and its understanding students and staff. - wasn't ready for her when she came along and we're still trying to catch up with her. Every time we turn around she's got another surprise waiting for using the wings.

Now I'm sending her into a world that hates and fears us. We're public enemy number one in the "normal-" or if you're Hope, Wild Type- world of the genetic non-mutants. Hope knows that there's something "not good" about being a mutant but she doesn't know what that something is yet. We've tried to protect her from it because I don't want anything like that spoiling her childhood, breaking her innocence. She's going to have to grow up with that black cloud over her head eventually but I'm all for delaying the inevitable.

Who's with me?

I'm also worried because Hope doesn't really know how a proper two-year-old acts. True, she can and often does act like a child her age but she slips in and out of this other persona, so to speak. The one that can think and comprehend above the norm for her age. Like everything else that has to do with Hope's mutations, she has no control over it. She just does what she does because that's what's comfortable for her.

Don't understand?

Don't feel bad. I didn't either until Matt told me about a little misadventure he and Hope had in the park the other day.

Yes, I know this is a tangent but, my dear paged and lined friend; you should be use to my tangents now. I'm sorry, I have no control over them and it's wonder I can keep them in check sometimes when I teach.

Scratch that, I don't really. When I'm having a good day, I can bounce around from topic to topic like some sort of strange, mental kangaroo. How I keep my job is beyond me and how my kids manage to pass any test given by any other instructor is even further beyond my understanding.

SEE! There I go again, taking a tangent on a tangent. I'm out of control…and I apologize.

Anyway, back to my original tangent….Hope and Matt's little misadventure in the park.

Matt took her to the park one afternoon because he didn't have work and I was teaching and someone had to watch Hope during the day and who better than her daddy to do that. Since Hope is a William's Baby, she's overly friendly. No one sure why it happens to children with that mutation but it does and Hope has that characteristic.

She was sitting in the sand box playing with the other kids just like any normal two-year-old. According to Matt, she was just sitting there making a sand castle with the other kids. Not really a castle but a pile of sand that was a castle in their imagination. All of a sudden, Matt- Who was keeping close watch on Hope because he knows how she can get- hears her talking about moats and the defenses a good castle requires.

Stuff a normal two-year-old shouldn't know about.

It was just after she started talking about things like that that Matt took her back to the institute. At least here no one is bothered or weirded out by a two year old talking about castle defenses or anything else.

Anyway, back to my main point.

Hope isn't always the model two year old and it's really not her fault. She just understands things differently than the other kids and it's all because of her genes.

Matt's been a real trooper, though. He firmly believes that Hope will be fine. That she survived enough rough stuff- From the moment she came into the world to now. - that school should be no problem.

He's ever the optimist, you know, believing that, in the end, things are going to be alright. He had faith that Hope will be able to pretend that she is a normal child and that we are a normal family. He believes- No, he says he knows- that Hope won't reveal our "dirty little secret" to anyone she goes to school with.

Maybe I want to believe him and I'm just scared to do so. Just like he believes that the baby who'll be here in June- as Hope guessed and we're not sure what to do with her psychic powers. Someone suggested creating an inhibition device so she'll be unable to use them in school but that suggestion was nixed. Hope's had these mental powers since day one and taking them away from her would do more harm than good because it would be depriving her of one her strongest senses. Even taking away the everyday hum of the world around her might scarce her than the addition of new voices. - will be fine. That he or she won't be as "unique" as Hope is now.

I'm trying to believe. I really am but it's hard. Really, really hard.

Well, I guess I should get some rest because I'm going to take Hope to school tomorrow. Charles- Thank goodness he's as tolerant as he is because, if I were him, I would have thrown myself out ages ago- is giving me the morning off to be the one to take Hope to school.

A very scared Mommy,

Bio


	21. Primi Giorni

AN: Hiya all! Well, my little vacation's over and I'm back in school again. Actually, it feels like I never left school so I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing, really. Probably a normal thing since I'm nearly always in school or doing something school related….or dance related….or Girl Scouts related. Anywho, I'm actually updating on time for once! I'm really going to try to make that a habit unless things get wicked crazy for me again (like with my Molecular Biology exam at the end of the month). Anyway, thanks for the reviews! I greatly appreciate them and I appreciate your honesty. Please, let me know if there's anything I can to do change this story and make it better. I like to hear what people are thinking and I'm always willing to do something to improve the way I write.

LJP: Actually, I like to throw in a point of view part in the story every so often instead of writing in the third person. I figure it's just a way to change things up and give a different view of the story. Eventually, most of the point of views will be done as if Hope was writing them. She's just got to get a bit older first.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in graduate's school. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

Her hand in her mother's, Hope walked into the brightly colored nursery school. Kids, slightly bigger in height and weight, played in groups of twos and threes in the classrooms that dotted along the hallway. The height and weight difference was only there because of the fact Hope was a Williams child. She was just always going to be smaller and thinner than others her own age.

It was enough that she was going to be allowed to join children her own age in the classroom setting. Williams Syndrome usually involved some type of learning problems, including attention and hyperactivity issues. Hope had none of those, actually, but a whole other set of problems due to her mutant genes. Thankfully, the school didn't know about those otherwise who knew what sort of problems that would open them up to.

"What do you think, Hope? It looks nice here, don't you thin," Angelina asked the tiny mutant walking next to her.

Hope- clad in jeans with metallic stars on the pockets and a t-shirt with a glittery star design on it- was taking in everything with her lacy patterned eyes. Those eyes that they couldn't hide unless they introduced contacts or something to her and that was something Angie and Matt weren't keen on doing. They were banking on her eyes not being noticed. No one could really notice the starburst, lacy pattern unless they really knew to look for it.

The walls of the hallway were painted in bright colors and decorated with apples, leaves, and school buses with smiling kids. All the hallmarks of the "Back to School" period of time. There was an alphabet running along one side of the hall and a number line running along the other side, acting in the place of border. From what could be seen in each classroom, there were simple toys spread out along the floor for the kids to play with.

"I'm not sure," Hope answered with a small shrug.

She really didn't know what to think of this strange and different place. It really wasn't anything like the school she had known before. The Xavier School- the only school she knew because she'd grown up behind the school's large walls- was nothing like this place with its bright colors and marble floors. Hope was more use to the fancy décor and designs of her mother's school.

As for the number lines and alphabets on the walls, that too made Hope uneasy. Not as uneasy as her mother, of course, who saw what she thought were glaring differences between what Hope was use to and what she was seeing now.

Her own room at home still bore the fantasy land mural on its walls since the little girl was particularly fond of fairy tales and stories about fantastic worlds. Actually, Hope loved to have such books read to her even though Angelina had a sneaking suspicious that Hope could read them herself. Either way, she and Matt were willing to oblige their daughter and read to her.

As for the toys, Hope had graduated from the simple toys the children were playing with earlier during the summer. She liked her dolls and doll houses and things of that sort just as much as the next little girl but there were still toys that got thrown in that didn't seem to fit the fact a two-year-old was playing with them. Like the microscope Hank had bought her.

"It'll be fun, you'll see," Angie told her daughter, though she knew the reassurance was more for herself than for the little girl holding her hand.

Hope gave her mother one of those long suffering looks little kids seemed to be capable of when they realized they were being talked down to, and commented in a tone that sounded suspiciously like Matt's, "Whatever you say, mommy."

Standing in the doorway of the classroom Hope had been assigned was an older looking woman. She was dressed in a long floral shirt and had a dress shirt on to match. A crocheted vest of maroon was over the shirt and nurse's shoes were on her feet. The woman's hair was a frizzy red halo around her head but her eyes were a kindly green color. She looked a bit harried as if she was tired of working. This was despite the fact the day had only just begun.

It was in front of this woman that Hope and her mother stopped and waited to be noticed. She seemed to checking children in according to a list she was holding in her creased and wrinkled hands. Obviously, Hope had wound up in the classroom lead by one of the more senior teachers, a fact that made Angie very comfortable. She figured, from what she knew about teaching, that the more senior teachers knew how to control a classroom and keep the kids in line.

"The day care's across the street, miss," she said, taking notice of the two figures standing before her.

Angelina tried to swallow whatever anger she was feeling in relation to the woman's snap judgment and corrected, "Thank you but I do believe this is where my daughter and I are supposed to be. My name is Mrs. Angelina D'Amichi and this is my daughter Hope D'Amichi."

She stressed the "Mrs." part of her name just to let the older woman know that she was married and that she was no foolish young woman with a child. Sure she was most likely one of the younger mothers with a child in the room but she had done things all well and proper according to how she'd been raised. She was married now and her daughter had her father's last name. The new baby, too, would have the last name of his or her father and sister.

The red-headed teacher ran a finger down the list and commented, "I'm so sorry, miss, her name is on the list."

"Thank you," Angie almost snapped as she and Hope were ushered into the loud classroom.

Upon entering the classroom, the pair received a bevy of dirty looks from the mother's watching the children in the classroom. They waves of hostility- along with the noise from all the children in the room that bothered Hope's sensitive hearing- threatened to overwhelm Hope's sensitive psychic sensors.

Words and images, most of them snap judgments made about her and her mother, flashed across Hope's mind and, along with the overly noisy classroom, made the little girl pull back. She closed her eyes and her mind as the combination of noises started to hurt her head.

"What's wrong, munchkin?" Angie asked the frightened child and cringing as she used the nickname she really didn't like using for her small daughter.

Sensing the most familiar of minds in the universe, Hope allowed her mother to see and hear what she had gotten from the other people in the room. The thoughts that were hurting her head because they were so loud. The minds of the students in the Xavier school were loud- and they were loud in tone too- but she was use to it. This was something else entirely and she was not use to this in the least.

"It's alright, _bella_," Angie assured Hope, switching over to Matt's more appropriate nickname for their little girl, "They don't understand, that's all. It's only words and images. You're okay."

"They hurt me," Hope, pitifully, told her mother with a frown.

"I know they do but they're only words. You remember what Professor Xavier says…that words can't hurt you unless you let them. Close up your mind and they won't hurt you anymore," Angie told her daughter, blinking back the tears Hope didn't seem to want to shed.

Even with the small amount of mental powers Angelina had, she could feel Hope withdraw into herself. She was locking her own mind away and allowing the background voices to fade into something like a dull, annoying hum.

"You think you can handle this, Hope?" Angie asked when her daughter's eyes feel on her once again looking a little less scared.

Giving her mother what she thought was a brave smile and allowing the overly friendly part of her personality- another little side effect of her Williams Syndrome- to come to the fore, Hope nodded her head.

She could do this….hands down.


	22. Infastidirsi

AN: Hiya all! Hope everyone's having a good week or so and getting ready for Halloween. Since I'm a Girl Scout leader, I get the esteemed honor of having to get myself a costume and dress up for our troop's Halloween Party. This year, because one of the other leaders stole my original costume idea which I think isn't fair, I'd going as Alice from Alice in Wonderland. The only thing I'm not doing is wearing a wig…my hair's too long to wear a wig comfortably and it makes me look odd. My sister's going as Raggedy Anne, even though she's fighting my mom (the troop's coordinator) about wearing a costume. Anywho, enough about Halloween. Thanks for all the reviews for my little story! They're greatly appreciated!

LJP: LOL! I'm glad you liked the chapter and Hope's going to get more than she bargained for in school. Sure she's got smarts and everything but she's also got a genetic disorder that's infamous for creating social to the point of annoying individuals and she's not exactly among people who are going to be friendly to that idea.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a handful or two of made up characters. All of this wonderful stuff belongs to the geniuses at Marvel Comics. I'm just playing in their world. I'm broke and in graduate's school. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

The work wasn't exactly the hardest in the world- It was strangely simple in Hope's wide, lacey patterned eyes.- and everything else seemed to involve a whole lot of playing. Playing was something Hope was quite alright with as well. She liked the games the class played and had taken a strong liking to playtime.

Truth be told, she liked story time better but that was neither here nor there at the moment. Though she could read fairly well for someone her age- Thanks to her mutant abilities. - the young girl liked to be read to. Her mother, father, and many of the other "big people" she knew from her mother's school all read stories very well in her young opinion.

School was one of those things that Hope enjoyed…..except for one little, tiny fact.

"Mrs. McNamara," called one of the little girls, a chubby sandy haired child with lopsided pigtails, "Hope's being annoying again."

Mrs. McNamara, the class' older teacher, wandered over to the playhouse where a group of young girls was playing house. There were four of them at the moment, all playing with baby dolls or with the area's kitchen set. Usually, the playhouse was the domain of a certain set of girls even though Mrs. McNamara tried her best to get other kids to play as well.

Sometimes it worked and other times it didn't. This time it seemed to have worked, except for the child who had decided to play with the other girls.

Dressed in a pink sweater and blue jeans, underneath her sweater she wore a plain gray t-shirt with a darker gray "X" logo on it, Hope was standing at the front of the playhouse. She was smiling brightly and talking to one of the other girls in a rapid fire manner. Talking about playing house and a million other things in a squeaky voice Hope used whenever she got really excited about something.

"Make her stop, Mrs. McNamara," another girl, with a head of black curls that were most obviously placed there by her mother, "she's buggin' us. We don't want her to play."

"But I want to play and Mrs. McNamara said to share games," Hope insisted, sounding a bit on the whiny side.

Her overly friendly, ready to please personality was working against her in the school situation. Instead of coming off as being one really social individual, Hope had started to wander into the realm of the annoying. People, specifically other kids her own age, couldn't tolerate her personality and they were starting to gripe about it.

This was not a problem she had in her mother's school because the students were older. They understood what Hope was and tried their best to tolerate her. Much to their credit, they never called her annoying and never complained to her mother about her. They played with Hope and dealt with her as best they could. Probably because, for some of them, Angelina controlled their grades for the year.

"Jane, Heidi, Dana, Sarah," Mrs. McNamara recited, going through the names of the four girls who usually held court in the playhouse, "Let Hope play with you today. Maybe she'll turn out to be a good friend for all of you."

"Fine," sighed the red headed child of the group, "Come on, Hope."

Mrs. McNamara walked away, turning only once to make sure they were playing nicely. Sure enough, Hope had gotten involved in the games the four girls were playing. It seemed to be a good sign in the teacher's experienced eyes since many kids in the class had complained Hope was "bothering" them.

Like any good teacher, Mrs. McNamara had checked the meaning of the strange notations in Hope's medical file. The ones that warned of an overly friendly, pushing it to the point of being annoying personality. It seemed that the little girl was suffering from a very odd genetic condition that caused all sorts of strange side effects. Upon speaking to Hope's frighteningly young mother and father about it, they assured her that their daughter's mental and intelligence levels were up to par for a child their age and that their was nothing save experience that would train their daughter not to be so friendly.

Suddenly, as the teacher was sitting at her desk looking over some of her class' "homework," she heard a loud screech. It wasn't uncommon for the classroom, during play time, to be full of the happy screeching of little children but this wasn't that sort of sound. Rather it was a yell of someone getting hurt or someone being somehow bothered by another person.

Getting up as fast as her old bones allowed her, Mrs. McNamara located the sound of the screeching child. She discovered, much to her total nonsurprise, that the cause of the shouting was Jane's little circle of friends at the playhouse. The girls were involved in some sort of game that only little kids could understand. Taking a count, though, she noticed that Hope was not around.

It was likely that the little girl could have gotten board and wandered off to play some other game. It was odd but not unexpected since she'd seen it before but Hope could play best by herself. She seemed to be more comfortable that way but that was neither here nor there at the moment. Mostly because Hope was no where to be seen.

"Ladies," she asked, peering into the playhouse again, "Have you seen Hope? I can't find her."

Four eyes of varying shades stared up at their teacher. They were fairly shining with mischief and other things. Not unusual for little kids but, for this group, Mrs. McNamara knew that meant trouble. It meant they were up to something.

"We don't see her," Heidi commented with an innocent smile.

"She goes away," Sarah added with the same smile.

The screechy sound came again, this time more muffled than before. Something was most definitely up and it wasn't a good thing.

"Girls," she asked, sounding more insistent, "where'd Hope go?"

A giggle passed around the group and Jane stated, "She goes with James."

James was Jane's twin brother and usually involved in whatever trouble his sister was causing. There was a third sibling, an older girl who had been adopted by Jane and James' parents a few years prior, but no one talked about her really. It was almost as if she was a nonentity in their lives.

"Where did James go?" Mrs. McNamara asked, sounding curious and trying not to scare the young girls into thinking they were in trouble.

Four shrugs went around the group who seemed to be bothered by the fact their game was being interrupted. They wanted to go back to playing and not have their teacher hanging around them talking about stuff they….really….honestly….didn't know about.

The teacher didn't need the girl's to answer when she spotted James' head behind the playhouse's fake refrigerator. Walking around, Mrs. McNamara found out just where the muffled screeching was coming from.

James had the much smaller and not very strong looking Hope in a death grip. The little girl, try as she might couldn't get away from the boy as he was holding her tightly and had his hands clamped around her mouth.

"James, let her go now!" Mrs. McNamara told the boy.

"We're playin'," James informed her in one of those obvious voices.

"What kind of game is this, kids?" the teacher asked, angry beyond all compare and pulling an obviously upset Hope away from James.

"She got caught," Jane told the teacher, "we gonna find her."

"Later in game," Dana added, "later, later in game."

Handing out time outs and deciding to write notes home, Mrs. McNamara brought Hope over to her desk to be looked over. She motioned for her aide to call Hope's parents.

Someone had to pick this child up and take her home.


End file.
